Page 80 of The Secrets We Built Together

My chest tightened as I watched him tend to Amelia, his big hands gentle as he laid her on the changing pad that had become a permanent addition underneath the coffee table, his voice soft as he narrated what he was doing. "Let's get you all clean, and then we'll make that bottle. Mommy's not feeling well today, so it's just you and me, kid."

Mommy.

The word hit me like a freight train. He probably hadn't even realized he'd said it, but it echoed in my head like a bell. Mommy. Was that what I was? What I wanted to be?

The answer came immediately, without hesitation. Yes.

I wanted to be her mother, in every sense that mattered. I wanted to be the one she ran to with skinned knees and broken hearts. I wanted to cheer at her soccer games and help with science projects and argue about curfews. I wanted the whole messy, beautiful, terrifying package.

And I wanted it with Xander by my side.

The realization was so overwhelming that for a moment I couldn't breathe.

"You okay?" Xander asked, glancing over as he finished fastening Amelia's clean diaper.

"Mmm," I managed, not trusting my voice. The fever was making me dangerously emotional, and I was afraid of what might come out if I started talking.

He gave me a concerned look but returned his attention to Amelia, lifting her and bringing her over to sit beside me on the couch.

"I'm just going to make her bottle," he said, passing her to me. "You good to hold her for a bit?"

I nodded, wrapping my arms around Amelia's warm little body. She stared up at me with those big curious eyes, like she was trying to figure out why I looked so awful.

"Sorry I'm such a mess today, strawberry," I whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "But don't worry. Xander's taking good care of us."

She grabbed a strand of my limp hair, giving it an experimental tug. Despite feeling like death warmed over, I smiled. Even sick as a dog, there was nowhere else I'd rather be than right here with her.

Xander returned with a bottle, and I started to hand Amelia back, but he stopped me.

"You can feed her if you feel up to it," he said. "Just let me help."

He sat beside us, arranging pillows to support my arms so I wouldn't have to use my depleted strength. Then he handed me the bottle, his fingers brushing mine in a way that sent a different kind of heat through me.

Amelia latched onto the bottle eagerly, her little hands coming up to rest against it. I relaxed back into the couch, feeling some of the tension leave my body. This was good. This was right.

"You're a natural, you know," Xander said, watching us with a soft expression.

"At being sick?" I joked weakly.

"At being a mom," he corrected. "I've never seen someone take to it so quickly, especially with a baby that isn't—" He stopped, clearly realizing what he was about to say.

"Biologically mine?" I finished for him.

He nodded, looking slightly embarrassed. "I didn't mean—"

"It's okay," I assured him. "She isn't. Not technically. But in all the ways that matter..." I trailed off, staring down at the baby in my arms. "She's mine. Ours."

The word hung between us, loaded with meaning. I hadn't meant to say it, but there it was.

Xander's hand came to rest on my shoulder, a warm, steady weight. "Ours," he agreed softly.

“Is it weird that I want to enjoy the bottles while they last?”

“Definitely not.” He wrapped an arm around my shoulders, leaning it to watch Amelia exactly like I was.

We sat like that for a while, the three of us in a little bubble while some perky TV host enthused about open-concept kitchens in the background. Amelia finished her bottle, and Xander took her to burp her, his large hand gentle as he patted her back.

The simple domesticity of it all made my throat tight. Was this what my life would be now? Quiet moments like this, the three of us together, taking care of each other?

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