The drive felt endless, the kind that makes your back ache and your legs stiff, especially with a one-year-old in the backseat and five months of pregnancy pressing against your ribs. Luca had fussed for most of the way until he finally gave in to sleep, his soft little snores filling the car. Rory’s hand stayed on your thigh almost the entire time, squeezing gently whenever you sighed, as if reminding you he was right there.

When you finally pulled into the Kavanagh driveway on Christmas morning, the house already glowing with warm light, your exhaustion melted just a little. Patrick was the first to open the door, his booming laugh carrying over the crisp winter air. “They’re here!” he shouted, before sweeping Rory into a hug and pulling you gently inside. Margaret was next, arms open, her smile so genuine it made your chest ache. She didn’t even say hello before reaching for Luca, who immediately perked up, giggling as she kissed his cheeks.

“You poor thing, driving all this way,” Margaret fussed, rubbing your arm. “Come inside, warm up. I’ve got cocoa on the stove.” She guided you in like you were her own daughter, the scent of cinnamon and pine wrapping around you like a blanket.

The house was pure Christmas. A towering tree twinkled with golden lights, stockings hung by the fireplace, and soft carols hummed from a speaker. Patrick carried in the bags while Rory held Luca against his chest, bouncing him gently as your little boy tried to tug at his dad’s hair.

You sank onto the couch with a grateful sigh, pressing a hand over your baby bump. Rory noticed immediately, his eyes softening as he crossed the room to kneel in front of you. “You okay, princess?” he murmured, brushing your hair behind your ear.

“I’m fine,” you whispered, smiling. “Just tired.”

Margaret appeared with cocoa—yours topped with extra marshmallows, just the way you liked it. She set it down carefully before lowering herself beside you. “You’re glowing,” she said warmly, her gaze dropping to your bump. “A girl this time… oh, I can’t wait.”

Luca waddled over then, babbling something only half-words, climbing onto your lap with determination. He tucked himself against you like he always did, his little hand resting possessively on your belly as if guarding his spot. Rory chuckled, leaning back on his heels. “Every time I hug you, he gets jealous. Look at him—he’s glaring at me.”

Sure enough, Luca’s big eyes followed Rory, his tiny pout forming when Rory reached out to stroke your cheek. Margaret laughed so hard she nearly spilled her cocoa. “He’s already protective of his mama. Just like his father.”

Later, after lunch, you found yourself curled up on the couch, Luca asleep against your chest. The fire crackled, filling the room with gentle warmth. Rory slipped in beside you, draping a blanket over your legs, his arm stretching protectively behind you both. Patrick was telling a loud story in the kitchen, and Margaret was humming along to carols while prepping dessert.

It was cozy and loud and warm, the kind of Christmas you always dreamed of—family filling every corner of the house, love so thick in the air you could almost see it. Rory kissed your temple softly, whispering, “This is perfect.”

And when you looked around—the twinkling tree, the sleeping baby in your arms, the flutter of your daughter in your belly, and Rory’s hand covering yours—you knew he was right.