Chapter Forty-Six

Blythe

At thirty-seven weeks and four days, I am officially a walking countdown.

Everywhere I go, I get the same questions.

“How are you feeling?”

Like my body is stretched beyond its limits, like every inch of me belongs to someone else now—someone tiny, demanding, and currently using my bladder as a pillow. It’s the blessing and the curse of living in a beautiful but very nosy small town.

“Any signs she’s coming soon?”

If constant kicking, Braxton Hicks contractions, and an insatiable craving for crushed ice count, then yes.

“Are you nervous?”

That’s easy to respond though. I’m beyond nervous. Terrified. But also . . . ready.

At least, I think I’m ready to meet this little one. The reality of her arrival feels closer now, pressing into my ribs with every shift and stretching inside me. Everly. Our daughter. Atlas’s tiny obsession and my entire world, already.

Sometimes, I wake up in the middle of the night to find him rubbing my belly, murmuring to her in that low, reverent voice that makes my chest squeeze. He tells her about his day, about the stars outside her window, about how much he loves her already.

She has him wrapped around her little, unborn fingers.

It still hits me sometimes—the whiplash of where I was six months ago. Hiding. Running. Fighting for a future, I didn’t even know I could have.

And now?

Now, I’m home.

Not just safe—but somewhere that feels like it was built just for me. With a man who would burn the world down for me and a daughter who is already stealing all his sleep.

“You shouldn’t be carrying that.” Atlas’s voice grumbles behind me, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I glance up from my spot in the baby store, holding a bag with the softest onesies I could find. “Atlas, it’s literally a few ounces.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Before I can protest, he’s already taking it from me, stuffing it into the cart. His brow is furrowed, mouth set in that stubborn line that should annoy me, but only makes my heart do something ridiculous.

Across from us, Nysa smirks, whispering loudly, “He’s been like this all day, hasn’t he?”

Simone hums in agreement. “If you let him, he’ll probably carry you out of the store too.”

Atlas does not deny it.

I shake my head, biting back a laugh as I rub a slow circle over my belly. I love being pregnant and close to her, even when she’s pressing against my bladder every two minutes.

“You ready to go?” I ask, glancing between Nysa and Simone.

Simone raises a brow. “More importantly—are you? It’s almost time.”

She doesn’t mean shopping.

She means her.

Everly.