The kind of couple strangers commented on in grocery store aisles. The kind of couple relatives pointed at during weddings and said, “That’s what marriage should look like.”
Blake had that kind of charm—smooth, easy, sunlight in human form. He could talk to anyone. He could make grumpy people laugh. He could make waitresses feel like they’d been doing him a personal favor just by bringing extra napkins. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t obnoxious. It was controlled.
And I used to think that meant safe.
When I told him I was pregnant, he cried.
Real tears—no blinking, no squeezing, no theatrics. Just emotion spilling down his face like it had slipped its leash.
He wrapped his arms around me so tight I could barely breathe and whispered, “We did it, Row. We’re actually going to be parents.”
I believed him.
I shouldn’t have. But I did.
Because I wanted to.
Because pregnancy makes you sentimental in ways you don’t expect. Suddenly, you’re not just thinking about a baby. You’re thinking about your childhood. Your parents. The shape of family. The parts of yourself you want to carry forward.
You want to believe in good beginnings.
Blake looked like a good beginning.
2. Planning the Party That Would Change Everything
The gender reveal party wasn’t my idea at first.
Blake’s family and mine were the type of people who turned anything into an event. Somebody’s kid loses a tooth? Cake. Someone gets a promotion? Balloons. A new baby? Full-scale production.
Blake leaned into it immediately. He loved an audience.
“Backyard,” he said, spreading his hands like he was already picturing it. “Everyone we love. Big reveal. Make it fun.”
I hesitated. Part of me wanted to keep it small. Intimate. Private.
But the other part—the part that had just watched him cry and hold my belly like it was the most precious thing on earth—thought, Why not? Let it be joyful. Let it be loud. Let it be ours.
So we planned it.
