Cuddling Ariel to sleep in my arms is as close as it gets to salvation for a man like me. I can’t keep myself from touching the swell of her pregnant belly again and again. She’s soft, warm, and fragrant. Everything my life is not.
But eventually, I have to rise.
There is business waiting for me downstairs.
Even after I extract myself and get to my feet, though, careful not to wake her, I feel torn in two. I don’t want to leave this room. This moment.
So I linger in the doorway, watching the gentle rise and fall of Ariel’s chest. She’s curled on her side, one hand splayed over her belly even in sleep. The sight does something to my chest that I’m still not used to—a sharp twist followed by an expanding warmth. Like I’m growing into a dimension I didn’t know existed.
It’s quieter than
