I woke up that morning determined to reclaim at least one piece of my normal life.
The last few days had been a blur of hospital rooms, soft warnings, too many pillows, and Jace hovering like my pregnancy was a ticking bomb only he could defuse. And I understood—God, I understood why he was scared—but understanding didn't mean I wasn't suffocating under the weight of it.
So I did something simple. Something small.
I got dressed for my morning meeting.
It wasn't a big one. It was simply just a check-in with my bakery manager about staffing and weekend orders. Nothing stressful. Nothing dramatic. Just… normalcy.
I slipped into one of my soft dresses, ran my fingers gently over my bump, whispered a quick "good morning" to my little girl, and grabbed the tablet with my notes.
I felt good and I was almost excited to participate in something that wasn't a nap or a blood pressure check.
But the moment I walked down the stairs, I saw him.
