The last night at the cabin arrived bringing with it a sweet melancholy, the kind you feel when something good is ending, but knowing that even better things await ahead.
After dinner—a simple pasta that Marco insisted on preparing, "to keep the tradition"—we sat on the porch swing, me on his lap, my huge belly resting on his legs, a thick blanket wrapped around us against the night cold.
Outside, the sky was clear, sprinkled with stars that seemed placed there just for us. The silence was so absolute you could hear your own heartbeat.
"What are you thinking about?" Marco asked, his voice soft against my ear.
"How perfect this place is."
"The cabin?"
"All of this. The view, the stars, the silence. You." I turned my face to kiss his chin. "Especially you."
He tightened his embrace, h
