Imogen nods, but my mind, though? It’s racing like crazy—replaying every single moment of what could’ve gone wrong. I shake my head slowly and Bradley catches the subtle movement.
“You did good, Harrison. You’re both here. Isla’s safe. Imogen’s safe. Your son’s safe. You got there in time.” Bradley then turns to his brother, Xavier. “You both did.”
Bradley’s words hit me hard. If we all hadn’t been there in time—if things had gone another way—I can’t even begin to imagine it. But he is right. We made it in time.
I swallow hard, the gratitude swallowing me whole. “We owe you a thank you, mate.”
He shrugs, all modesty. “Just doing my job.”
With that, he shifts gears, and the formalities ease. He leans forward, pressing a kiss to Imogen’s head. “Congratulations again to you both,” he says before pulling me into a hug. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
“I’ll see you both soon,” Bradley says, his gaze lingering on Imogen before he nods at me and moves to leave. His exit is quiet, but the weight of his presence lingers, a quiet strength I won’t forget. Isla moves in, pulling Imogen into another hug, offering her the comfort we all know she needs right now.
I sink down beside her, pressing a kiss to her temple, my arm wrapping around her.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper. “Always.”
“I love you,” she says.
“I love you, too,” I reply, my heart heavy and full all at once.
41
1 month later – November
Four weeks in, and we’re still finding our rhythm.
Harrison took the first month off work, which was a godsend. Neither of us knew what we were doing—newborns don’t exactly come with instructions. I finally convinced him to head back this week, though part of me wants him here every second. We celebrated Harrison’s birthday on October twenty-second, after Joseph was born. It was simple but perfect, with our whole family gathered around.
Bradley’s birthday came next—same family vibes but different energy. His work friends showed up, and I got to catch up with Teddy and Sebastian. Sebastian’s found a babysitter, which isgood for him. There’s definitely some weird tension between him and Olivia, but hey, that’s none of my business.
Oh, and then Callie’s first birthday rolled around. God, October and November are the months of birthdays around here. It feels like every other week there’s a celebration, but I wouldn’t change a thing.
Back to motherhood, you ask? Breastfeeding? Fucking hell. People warned me it would hurt, but no one mentioned the brutal reality—especially those first few weeks. My poor nipples have been through hell, and there were nights I’d sit up crying, cursing under my breath. At least Joseph’s latching well now, which is the only thing keeping me from throwing in the towel. No mastitis yet, so I’ll take that as a win. If he needs me to endure some pain, fine. He’s worth it.
As for downstairs... I’m too nervous to even look after the birth. The only updates I get are from Harrison, who swears everything is “still perfect.” Sweet, but not convincing.
God, I miss sex. I missus. Even a proper makeout feels like a miracle, with a newborn glued to me twenty-four-seven. It’s like Joseph knows when we’re about to doanythingremotely intimate and decides to cry, like clockwork.
But for now, it’s just the two of us—Joseph and me.Joseph Steven Price.
Choosing that name felt right. My dad and Harrison’s? Those two shaped us, molded us into who we are. We owe them everything, and now they’ve got this little guy to carry on the name. He’s in a little rocker while I’m checking my phone, scrolling through the group chat that’s been blowing up non-stop.
TheHousewives of Wattle Creekis becoming way too accurate.
Isla:You good, babe? How’s J today?
Amelia:Has he smiled yet? I hear the first little smile makes all the sleepless nights worth it.
Liv:I miss his cute little face, send pics when you can, of course. How’s breastfeeding going, Immy?
Me:Baby J and I are doing okay. For now.
Isla:Sending strength, Mumma. Breastfeeding sucks at first. I swear, Callie tried to gnaw mine off.
Me:Well, baby’s fed, nipples are still intact. I’m marginally functional. No one’s cried in the last hour. Winning?
Isla:Hell yeah, that’s winning!