Never Not You

Rip off the bandaid

After a long, laughter-filled evening — the shock of the news melting into smiles and hugs — Amanda and David finally headed home, still talking about "our sneaky girl" and "our soon-to-be grandbaby number two." The front door clicked shut behind them, leaving the house quiet again.

Leah let out a deep breath, leaning against the door for a second before glancing toward the kitchen. "Well," she muttered, a tired grin tugging at her mouth, "that went... better than expected."

From the other side of the room, Mateo perked up like he'd been waiting for that exact cue. His little hand shot up.
"Mama! Baby now?" he asked, wide-eyed, hopeful. "Baby go on fwidge? P'ease?"

Leah laughed softly, shaking her head. "You've been waiting all day, huh, bub?"

Mateo nodded eagerly, both hands clutched together under his chin. "Baby go nex' to my dino wocket! Baby see it!"

Aurora chuckled from the sofa. "Go on, Mama. The kid's been patient enough."

Leah crossed to the counter, where the small, precious ultrasound printout rested — still smudged in one corner from Mateo's fingerprints. She picked it up carefully, and Mateo bounced on his toes, little curls flopping.

"Alright," Leah said, crouching to meet his gaze. "Where's it going, Teo?"

Mateo's tiny finger pointed decisively toward the fridge. "Dere! Nex' my wocket! Baby wike wocket."

Leah smiled and scooped him up, his arms looping instinctively around her neck. She carried him to the fridge, the faint hum of it filling the quiet kitchen. Mateo held the photo proudly in one small hand while Leah steadied him with the other.

"Okay, you do the honors, mister," she said softly.

Mateo pressed the picture up next to his bright crayon masterpiece — a green dinosaur flying a purple rocket through a messy sky of stars — and Leah helped him smooth the magnet over it.

"Dere!" he said with satisfaction, leaning back to admire it. "Baby wiv wocket. Safe."

Leah kissed his cheek, whispering, "Perfect spot."

Aurora joined them a moment later, wrapping her arms around both of them, smiling at the little display — the dinosaur rocket and the new life side by side.

Mateo reached out, patting the photo gently. "Night-night, baby," he mumbled, content and proud.

And Leah felt her chest ache with love — for the baby in Aurora's belly, for the boy in her arms, and for the little family that somehow, against all odds, felt complete.

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Aurora stretched, kissed Leah's temple, and said casually, "Alright, I'm gonna start dinner."

She turned toward the kitchen, tying her hair back into a loose bun as she opened a cupboard. But before she could even reach for a pan, a sharp little gasp echoed through the room.

"Mami! No!"

Aurora turned just in time to see Mateo come barrelling across the rug, curls bouncing, face scrunched up in panic. He grabbed at her leg, both hands clutching her jeans like the world was ending.

"Baby, what's wrong?" Aurora asked, crouching down, her voice soft but puzzled.

Mateo pointed an accusing finger toward the kitchen counter. "No cook, mami! No cook!"

Aurora blinked, amused. "Why not, amorcito?"

He looked up at her, eyes wide and serious, his little chest puffing like he was protecting her from danger. "Cookin' hurt baby!" he said firmly, shaking his head for emphasis. "No, mami, no cookin'! Baby go owie!"