A New Bloom
1047 Words
Chapter Fifteen: A New Bloom
Sunlight poured into the kitchen like liquid gold. The scent of cinnamon rolls lingered in the air, and laughter echoed from the living room where Leo and Mira had built a fortress of couch cushions and blankets.
Catherine stood at the sink, fingers curled around a warm mug of mint tea. Her other hand drifted to her stomach — a soft, instinctive touch.
Barely anything showed yet, just a whisper of change.
But she knew.
She was growing life again.
Not to fill a void.
Not to heal from loss.
But because love had finally made space for more.
The Moment
Max entered, hair tousled, pajama pants wrinkled. He moved straight to her, kissed the top of her head, and wrapped his arms around her from behind.
“You’ve been up early a lot lately,” he murmured, voice still husky from sleep.
She leaned into him. “Yeah. Something about the sunrise feels… sweeter these days.”
“You sure it’s not the smell of Leo’s armpit spray experiments?”
She laughed. “Tempting theory. But no.”
He kissed her neck gently. “You’re glowing, you know.”
She turned, meeting his gaze, eyes soft. “Max…”
“Yeah?”
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
His brows knit together, instantly alert. “Are you okay?”
She took his hand, placed it gently over her belly. “We’re okay.”
It took a second.
Then realization dawned — slowly, wonderfully.
“You’re… wait. Are we…?”
She nodded, tears already gathering. “We’re having a baby.”
Max blinked once. Twice.
Then lifted her off the ground in a spin, laughing through the sudden tears in his eyes.
“God, Catherine. You’re everything.”
Revealing the News
Later that afternoon, they called Leo and Mira to the kitchen table
.
“We need to tell you something important,” Catherine said, her tone conspiratorial.
Leo narrowed his eyes. “Are we moving again? Because I just finished hanging up all my posters.”
“No, sweetheart,” she said with a chuckle. “This is a good surprise.”
Mira leaned forward. “Is it a unicorn?”
“Better,” Max said, winking.
Catherine took Mira’s tiny hand and placed it on her belly.
“There’s a baby in there.”
Mira gasped, eyes wide. “You ate a baby?”
“No, silly,” Leo said, stunned into awe. “They’re having another kid. Whoa.”
Catherine waited, holding her breath a little. She wasn’t sure how they’d react.
Leo blinked. “Does that mean I get to teach someone how to build a volcano with baking soda?”
Max grinned. “Absolutely.”
Mira squealed and jumped off her chair. “I’m gonna be the best big sister! I’ll sing lullabies! And teach her ballet! And—wait—is it a girl?”
Catherine laughed. “We don’t know yet.”
“Well,” Mira declared, planting her hands on her hips, “then I need to start making a list of names. Like Princess Starbeam.”
Leo made a face. “Please no.”
That Night
Max found her in the old nursery—the room once filled with lullabies and midnight feedings, now quiet and still. The soft glow of the nightlight, long forgotten but never unplugged, cast tiny constellations across the ceiling, like memories hanging in the sky.
Catherine sat on the floor beside the crib, her hand gently brushing the smooth wooden rail. Her expression was distant, thoughtful, but calm.
Max didn’t speak at first. He just stepped inside and lowered himself beside her, knees brushing hers.
“You okay?” he asked gently, voice barely more than a breath.
She nodded slowly. “I didn’t think I’d ever feel this again,” she murmured. “Not just relief. Not survival. But peace. Like it belongs to me—not something borrowed, not a fluke.”
He reached for her hand, his fingers wrapping around hers in quiet reassurance.
“I come in here sometimes,” she confessed. “Even when the kids are asleep in their beds. Just to remind myself that this… this calm… it’s real.”
Max looked up at the ceiling, watching the little lights swirl. “I think peace sneaks up on people like us. We don’t recognize it at first because we’re so used to bracing for the next storm.”
She chuckled softly, wiping at the corner of her eye. “I used to watch movies where the heroine gets her happy ending, and I’d tell myself: that’s not me. That’s not for people like me.”
He turned to her then, lifting her hand to his lips and kissing her knuckles, slow and sure. “You wrote this ending, Catherine. With every hard choice. With every scar. You built this life from the ruins.”
Her eyes glistened, but her smile was steady. “And you stayed. Through all of it. Even when I didn’t think I was worth staying for.”
He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, his voice low and certain. “You were always worth it. Always.”
She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder as they sat there in the hush of the night, in a room once filled with new beginnings.
Outside, the world went on turning.
But inside, in that quiet moment, everything was finally still.
And whole.
A Subtle Goodbye
As she tucked Mira into bed that night, Catherine caught her daughter staring at the moon through the window.
“Mommy?” Mira whispered. “Do you think the stars remember when we were sad?”
Catherine’s heart paused at the question.
She tucked a lock of hair behind Mira’s ear. “I think the stars remember everything. But they shine because they know we kept going.”
Mira smiled sleepily. “Then I’ll keep going, too.”
Catherine kissed her forehead and whispered, “Me too.”
And as she stood in the hallway, hand resting again on her stomach, she didn’t feel the past anymore. Not like a wound. Not like a weight.
It had drifted.
And she hadn’t even noticed when.
- Writer
