Halloween night, 1999 — the kind of cool Seattle evening that felt crisp and alive, with fog rolling off the street and the sound of laughter echoing through the neighborhood. The porch light glowed amber, the jack-o’-lanterns flickered, and you sat wrapped in a blanket on the porch swing, watching kids in costumes race from house to house.
Kurt’s low voice followed, a mix of amusement and concern. “Franny, hey, slow down! You’re gonna trip over your cape again!” Frances Bean Cobain — five years old, fierce as ever — came sprinting up the walkway in a vampire cape two sizes too big, fangs poking out from her mouth. “Mommy, look! Look how much candy I got!” she said, dumping her pumpkin bucket all over the porch floor. Chocolate bars, lollipops, and Smarties scattered everywhere.
Frances Bean Cobain — five years old, fierce as ever — came sprinting up the walkway in a vampire cape two sizes too big, fangs poking out from her mouth. “Mommy, look! Look how much candy I got!” she said, dumping her pumpkin bucket all over the porch floor. Chocolate bars, lollipops, and Smarties scattered everywhere.
Frances Bean Cobain — five years old, fierce as ever — came sprinting up the walkway in a vampire cape two sizes too big, fangs poking out from her mouth. “Mommy, look! Look how much candy I got!” she said, dumping her pumpkin bucket all over the porch floor. Chocolate bars, lollipops, and Smarties scattered everywhere. Kurt followed, laughing under his breath. He had his hair tied back, strands falling into his eyes, a faded flannel over a black T-shirt, and — much to Frances’s delight — a Dracula cape of his own.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he said softly, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “How you feelin’?” “Like a whale with ankles,” you said dryly. He chuckled, brushing his thumb along your cheek. “A beautiful whale.” You rolled your eyes, but smiled. “Flattery will only get you so far, Cobain.” Frances was dancing around the porch, sugar-high and unstoppable. “Daddy, can we go to one more house? Pleeeease? The one with the giant skeleton?” Kurt looked between you and her, torn. “Baby, I think we’re done for tonight,” he said gently. “Mommy’s tired, and we’ve already raided the whole neighborhood.” “But she’s not having the baby yet!” Frances protested, pointing dramatically at your belly. “She said Halloween!” You stifled a laugh, rubbing your stomach. “Looks like someone in here didn’t get the memo.” Frances pouted, crossing her little arms. “That’s not fair. The baby promised.” That was when your next contraction hit — mild but sharp enough to make you pause mid-laugh. You took a slow breath, hand gripping the armrest. Kurt noticed instantly, his expression shifting from amusement to quiet alertness. He crouched down beside you. “Was that one?” You nodded. “Yeah, but it’s… light. Don’t panic.” Frances gasped. “It’s happening! It’s happening!” “Whoa, hey,” Kurt said quickly, holding up his hands. “Nope, not yet, Franny. Baby’s just getting comfy. Right, sweetheart?”
As the night went on, Kurt carried a sleepy Frances inside, tucking her into bed with her candy bucket beside her. Then he came back out, sitting beside you on the porch swing. You leaned your head against his shoulder, the sound of rain beginning to patter softly against the roof. “You did good tonight,” you murmured. He turned to you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You mean keeping our tiny vampire from summoning chaos?” You laughed quietly. “Yeah. That too.” He laced his fingers with yours, thumb brushing over your wedding band. “Y’know,” he said after a moment, “five years ago, I didn’t think I’d make it to another Halloween. Now here I am — married, sober, with candy stuck to my shoe and a baby on the way.” You smiled. “You made it, Kurt.” He kissed your temple. “No,” he whispered. “We did.” And for the rest of the night, you sat together under the dim porch light — the fog rolling in, the pumpkins flickering — while the world outside slowly fell quiet. No labor, no chaos, just peace. Just Kurt, you, and the life you both built from the ashes.