The late afternoon sun spills golden light across the kitchen floor as you sway slowly to the soft hum of an old jazz record playing in the background. The scent of freshly baked banana bread lingers in the air—your daughter insisted on baking it with you, even though she mostly just wanted to lick the spoon.

“Mommy, can I have a piece now? Pleaaase?”

You glance down and smile at her, her big brown eyes looking up at you with the exact same spark of mischief you’ve seen in your own reflection. She’s clutching her favorite stuffed giraffe, the one with the missing ear, and bouncing slightly on her toes in her tiny pink socks.

“Only if you promise not to tell Daddy we ate it before dinner,” you whisper dramatically.

Her mouth forms a perfect O, then she nods solemnly. “Secret!” she whispers back, placing a tiny finger to her lips.

Her name is Ava. You never imagined you could love anything or anyone as much as you love her. She’s like a little piece of your soul walking around, asking a hundred questions an hour, mimicking your every move, and somehow still managing to surprise you every single day.

You watch her happily nibble on the banana bread at the table, legs swinging, humming a made-up song under her breath. You place your hand over your belly instinctively, as if your second child can already feel your thoughts. Three months along now—and somehow, the wonder of it hasn’t faded at all.

The front door opens. You hear keys hit the little dish by the entrance, the low murmur of his voice talking to someone on the phone. You don’t catch what he’s saying, but the sound of it brings a soft warmth to your chest.

“Ava’s chewing with her mouth open again,” you tease as he walks into the kitchen, grinning at you.

“I like the sound,” she defends with her mouth full.

Jason laughs and leans down to kiss the top of her head. Then he walks over and wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close. He smells like cologne and a little like the outside world—like the sharp contrast between his high-stress, high-powered job and the little bubble of peace you’ve created inside this house.

“You okay?” he murmurs, his hand resting lightly on your stomach.

You nod, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Better now.”

There are always a few quiet minutes like this when he gets home. It’s become part of the rhythm of your day. Ava chatters on at the table, updating her dad on everything that happened during the day—how she drew a duck that looked like a potato, how you caught her trying to feed the baby bump a grape, how she made a wish on a dandelion but can’t tell anyone what it was or it won’t come true.

And Jason listens, really listens. You love that about him. Even when his phone buzzes with emails and meetings, he puts it all away for her. For you.

You remember the first time you saw him—at your best friend’s birthday party. Back then, you were just a teenager, seventeen and a little stubborn, not expecting to meet anyone, especially not him. He had just moved back from another state, so even though he was your best friend’s brother, it was the first time you’d laid eyes on him. And wow… when you did.

It was the kind of attraction that hit like a wave—instant, a little cliché, but somehow real. And it only grew deeper the more you got to know him. He was funny in the same sarcastic, dry way you were. He made you laugh even when you didn’t want to. He saw you, really saw you, and loved you without hesitation.

Now, six years later, here you are. Married, with a toddler who thinks you’re the greatest human alive, a baby on the way, and a home that feels full even when it’s quiet.

Later that night, the house has settled into its gentle hush. Ava’s asleep, curled up with her giraffe, soft snores barely audible through the monitor. Jason’s next to you in bed, one hand resting on your belly, the other tangled with yours beneath the covers.