Page 97 of Where She Belongs
I nod, tears threatening. “Surprise?”
“But I thought—” He shifts Sofia to his hip, reaching for the test with his free hand. “The doctors said?—”
“Apparently someone didn’t get that memo.” I laugh through my tears. “Are you happy?”
Instead of answering, he pulls me close, creating a family hug that has Sofia squealing with delight. “Happy doesn’t begin to cover it.”
“Papa cry?” Sofia pats his cheek where tears have escaped.
“Happy tears, mijita.” He kisses our daughter’s forehead, then my lips. “Very happy tears.”
“We should tell your parents first,” Gabe says as he puts Sofia down for her bedtime routine a few hours later. “Your mom’s still mad she found out about Sofia through Tristy’s Instagram announcement.”
I laugh, remembering the flood of messages in Tagalog that followed that particular post. “In my defense, Tristy wasn’t supposed to share those ultrasound photos until after we told everyone.”
“At least this time we can control the narrative.” He joins me at the nursery window, where the sunset paints Sofia’s room in soft golds. “Though we might want to wait until after your first trimester, given...”
He doesn’t finish the sentence. We both remember the early miscarriage six months ago—how devastated we were, how supportive our families had been. How Gabe held me through the grief while dealing with his own.
“I’m already nine weeks,” I confess. “I wanted to be sure this time before telling you.”
His arms tighten around me. “Nine weeks? But that means?—”
“That weekend at the satellite clinic? When we were doing the walk-through?” I feel his chest rumble with laughter. “Apparently those on-call room skills haven’t gotten rusty.”
“Dr. Martin, are you suggesting our child was conceived during a professional consultation?”
“More like after the consultation. In your office.” I turn in his arms. “Though I seem to recall you being very thorough in your examination.”
Before he can respond, my phone buzzes with a text from Tristy:
Mom! Tyler felt the baby kick! Video calling you in 5!
“Speaking of examinations,” I say, showing him the message, “ready to be a grandfather?”
“Don’t even start,” he groans, but his smile is genuine. Watching him embrace his role as Sofia’s father and soon-to-be grandfather to Tristy’s baby has been one of life’s sweetest surprises.
The video call connects, showing Tristy and Tyler in their newly renovated nursery—another masterpiece from Dax’s workshop.
“Mom! Gabe! You’ll never believe—” Tristy stops, squinting at the screen. “Wait. Something’s different. Mom, are you glowing?”
I shoot Gabe a panicked look. Trust our daughter to spot it immediately.
“New skincare routine,” I try, but Tristy’s already squealing.
“OH MY GOD! Are you? Are we? Mom!”
“So much for waiting to tell people,” Gabe mutters, but he’s beaming. “Yes, your mom’s pregnant. No, don’t post it yet. We haven’t told the grandparents.”
“But my followers have been predicting this! They’ll freak out!” She turns to Tyler. “Babe, our baby’s going to have an aunt or uncle younger than them!”
As they chatter excitedly about joint birthday parties and matching outfits, I lean back against Gabe’s chest, overwhelmed by how full my life has become. Two years ago, I was terrified of letting him in, of risking my heart again. Now I can’t imagine any other path.
A soft cry from Sofia’s room interrupts the call. “Someone’s not happy about missing the excitement,” Gabe says, already moving toward the nursery. This is our dance now—the perfect partnership we’ve built, not just in our clinics but in our home.
“Go,” Tristy says. “We’ll call back tomorrow. Love you both!”
After settling Sofia, we end up on the porch swing, our favorite spot for evening conversations. The garden Gabe’s mother planted last spring is thriving, herbs and vegetables mingling with the flowers my mother insisted we needed “for the soul, anak.”
