Page 177 of Rescuing Ally: Part 2
“Oh my God.” The words come out as a whisper; my hands move automatically to my stomach, where Hank’s son grows safely. “We’re having Hank’s baby.”
“We’re having Hank’s baby,” Gabe confirms, a smile breaking across features that have carried too much shadow for too long.
Tears fall without permission, hot against skin that’s suddenly too sensitive. Hank’s baby. Hank’s son. A piece of the man we lost, growing inside me, preparing to join a world that needs his father’s steadiness and strength.
“We get to raise Hank’s son together. We get to tell him about his father—how brave he was, how much he loved us, how he died protecting the people who mattered the most to him.” Gabe’s voice breaks on the words as the emotion he’s been containing finally finds an outlet.
“I love you,” I tell Gabe, meaning more than simple affection.
“I love you too. Both of you.” His hand covers mine where it rests on my stomach. “All three of us, actually. Because he’s still here. Still a part of us.”
The sun disappears behind the horizon, painting the sky in colors that would have made Hank smile.
Love creates its own kind of immortality.
We’re going to be a family. Different from what we planned, shaped by loss but strengthened by love, carrying forward with the best of what we’ve been given.
Sometimes, that’s not just enough.
It’s everything.
FIFTY-FIVE
Carry Her Home
GABE
I watchher sleeping in the early morning light, her body curved protectively around the small bump that holds Hank’s son. Our son. Her breathing comes deep and even, face relaxed in sleep like it rarely is in waking hours anymore. Dawn paints her skin gold, catching in her hair and turning ordinary brown to burnished copper.
Some mornings, I just watch her breathe. Count the inhales and exhales like they’re miracles. Because they are.
Telling her about the baby was the right call. Watching her process that revelation—that Hank’s legacy will continue in flesh and blood—broke something loose in both of us. A tension we’d been carrying without realizing it.
Now our grief and our hope tangle together in this messy, beautiful aftermath of loving a man who isn’t here anymore.
I ease out of bed, careful not to wake her. Morning sickness has finally started to ease, but she needs every minute of rest she can get. The hardwood is cool against my bare feet as I pad into the kitchen, the familiar ritual of making coffee giving my hands something to do while my mind wanders.
It’s been five months since we lost him. Five months of relearning how to exist in a world where Hank’s laugh doesn’t fill our home, where his steady presence doesn’t anchor us in moments of chaos. Five months of Ally and me circling each other like survivors of a shipwreck, both desperate to keep the other afloat.
And now a baby. Hank’s son growing stronger every day.
The doorbell rings, jarring me from thoughts that have turned melancholy despite the good news we’re still processing. It’s early—barely 6 a.m. Nobody visits at this hour unless something’s wrong.
I check the security feed before opening the door. Forest stands on our porch, looking uncomfortable. His face is grim, the expression of a man carrying weight he’d rather set down.
“Forest.” I open the door, anxiety spiking despite his nod of reassurance. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah.” He clears his throat, not quite concealing his obvious discomfort. “Can I come in?”
I step aside, letting him enter our home. He looks around, taking in the changes since his last visit. The walls Ally painted pale blue last weekend. The crib parts stacked in the corner, waiting for assembly. The ultrasound photos magnetized to the refrigerator.
“Heard the news,” he says, nodding toward the evidence of impending fatherhood. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” The word comes out rough, emotion still raw when people acknowledge what’s happening. What’s real.
“Coffee?”
“No.” He shifts his weight, hand going to the pocket of his jacket. “I’m not staying. Just needed to deliver something.”
