The doors of the rehab facility clicked shut behind Joey, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he inhaled a breath that didn’t carry the stench of failure. This time, he swore to himself, was different. This time, he wasn’t just doing it for himself—he was doing it for you, the only person who had never given up on him, and for the baby he hadn’t even met yet.

The guilt was a heavy weight on his chest, a constant reminder of everything he had missed. He’d lost months of your pregnancy—doctor’s appointments, milestones, the late-night cravings you used to tease him about, even the chance to hold your hand when you needed him most. But he was here now, and he wasn’t running anymore.

When he walked into your apartment, the air was filled with the sound of running water. Panic flashed through him, and he followed the sound to the bathroom. There you were, standing in the middle of a growing puddle, one hand clutching your swollen belly, the other reaching for the sink.

you whispered his name softly, your voice trembling with a mixture of relief and emotion as your eyes met his.

Without hesitation, he dropped to his knees in front of you, hands shaking as they came to rest on your stomach. His forehead pressed gently against the curve of your belly, and for the first time, he felt it—the faintest kick of life. His breath hitched, and tears he hadn’t realized he was holding back blurred his vision.

Your fingers ran through his hair, grounding him, pulling him back from the edge.

“I’m here,” Joey whispered, his voice thick with emotion. No promises, no grand declarations. Just a simple truth.

He had missed so much, but he was here now, ready to be the man you and your child deserved.