Marnie did not expect it to happen like this.
She thought if she ever cried from love, it would be dramatic—during childbirth, perhaps, or when she first held her babies. She imagined tears would come with pain or fear, something loud and overwhelming.
Instead, it came quietly.
Almost gently.
It was late—past midnight—when the condo finally settled into stillness. The city lights outside the bedroom window glowed softly, filtered through sheer curtains. The rain had stopped hours ago, leaving behind a hush that felt sacred.
Michael was asleep beside her, his breathing slow and even. One arm curved protectively around her waist, his hand resting over her belly as it belonged there—which it did.
Marnie lay awake, staring at the ceiling.
She couldn’t sleep.
Not because she was uncomfo
