Page 116 of Babies for the Big Shot
Now there’s just me.
And the echo of three tiny heartbeats still thudding somewhere deep inside me.
I curl up on the couch in Nick’s hoodie, a cup of chamomile tea going cold in my hands, and stare at the blank page on my laptop. I don’t even remember opening it. My fingers hover over the keys like they’re waiting for someone else to start typing.
And then, slowly, I do.
Dear babies,
I don’t know how to say this, or even if it’s the right thing to do, but I need to try. I need to put this somewhere because it’s too big to carry inside me alone.
I’m scared. Not just a little scared. The kind that makes your stomach flip or your palms sweat. I’m talking heart-in-your-throat, world-tilting, nothing-makes-sense kind of scared.
And I don’t want to lie to you and say I’m brave. Or ready. Or even remotely okay. Because I’m not. I feel like I’m holding this beautiful, impossible miracle in my hands and I have no idea how not to drop it.
But I want to get this right. More than anything, I want to be good for you. I want to be safe. And kind. And strong. I want you to laugh more than you cry. To never wonder if you’re loved.
I want you to know that even if everything around us feels uncertain…
You were wanted.
All three of you.
Every single heartbeat.
I pause, fingers frozen over the keyboard.
And then I stare at the screen for a long time, the cursor blinking after the last line.
My hands start to shake as I write the next part.
Your dad…
No.
I delete it. Then type again, slower.
Nick…
And stop.
Because I don’t know what comes next.
I don’t know what he wants. I don’t even know if he still wants me. Or if this, they, will be too much. Too fast. Too late.
I close the laptop slowly, my throat tight, my chest aching.
And then, just as the silence settles in again…
Buzz.
My phone lights up beside me.
Nick: I need to see you. Please.
My heart stumbles.
I stare at the message for a full thirty seconds, my thumb hovering above the screen as if pressing a key might detonate me.
