Confessions are scary from admitting that you were wrong as a child and apologizing to even the first time that you told your parents or friends or grandmother about needing help. Marinette was convinced that she was about done with the nerves, the trepidation, of confession years ago, when she first told her husband when they were just dating that she loved him.

Confession was redefined almost from one second to the next, and now, she had what felt like a lot to tell him after being sick for a few days and balancing a busy career with suddenly feeling ill and taking care of their daughter, Cecilia. The first time that they'd had a little test in their house and checked it; they were together, and it told them that they'd have Cecilia, their precious baby girl, who just turned seven this year.

Still this was a whole different set of nerves that telling her husband that she loved him for the first time and not knowing whether she'd mistaken his feelings for her that had always seemed so clear. She hadn't been wrong then, and she already was hoping and praying that she wasn't wrong now.


"Luka, I have something to tell you." Marinette spoke up before she'd even given herself time to think of the words to say. Sometimes life refused to follow a simple, structured pattern anyway.
"Alright, Cece, we'll be right back." Luka told their seven year old who was already engrossed in the opening sequences of her favorite show, and she merely nodded to show that she heard. Sometimes just seeing her respond to them gave so much relief, especially as they'd spent a great many doctor's visits worrying over their daughter up to this point and would likely spend many more worrying over her.


"I'm pregnant." Why were the words so hard to say? Their first child, Cece, was the light of their world and could keep them going through the worst and most difficult storms with just a smile, had the exuberant energy of a child her age, most of the time, and had learned to patiently hold out her arm for routine blood work. Marinette wasn't afraid of introducing a new child into their life, but what if just one was a handful?

"We're going to have another child?" Luka's eyes lit up, and Marinette relaxed. He pulled her closer and gingerly rested his head on her stomach, still trying to find that early heart song before he'd be able to hear it.

"Yeah." Marinette croaked out, sudden emotion as overwhelming as it felt filled her veins up. They'd have another baby, a girl or a boy, and Cece would be a big sister. Cece would be a wonderful big sister, loving and supportive, sympathetic, even though Marinette had to often defend her daughter against harsh words from people who just didn't understand, didn't know.

"I can't wait." Luka smiled, and his wife felt warm, just at peace. They'd raise another kid too, not just their first born little girl, but another baby would be in the house to take care of, to nurture, to love with all of their hearts, just as much as they loved Cece.


A little while later, it was time to tell Cece about becoming a big sister. "Momma, Papa?" She yawned after a long day of school, nestled up against their sides, and just trying to listen to Papa's heart song like he always listened to hers. She relished the quiet time to just be by her parents, where words didn't need to rush out, and time could pass by steadily, and she didn't have to worry about missing things that the other kids in her class would have heard, if they'd been here.

"You're going to be a big sister." Both of her parents croaked out with tear filled eyes, and Cece wasn't entirely sure what emotion hit her first: fear, joy, excitement, relief, something else? She just wanted to be a good big sister, a better big sister surely than the way some of her friendships had gone. When Nattie didn't want to be her friend anymore for no reason, that had hurt so much. She'd even asked her why, but she'd never been told why.

"I am?" It seemed surreal as she reached out for her Mommy's tummy. When was the last time that she looked at her mother in so much awe, she wondered, as she scooted towards her on the bed? A little baby sister or brother was growing in her mother's belly, and soon Cecilia might have a best friend that wouldn't just leave her side without warning and without explanation, but what if she was a bad big sister?

"Yeah." Luka muttered, hands gingerly over his daughter's, just staying close, and watching as she received the news that he'd not too long ago, just received himself.

"What if I'm a bad sister? And he or she asks why I stop talking suddenly? Or... Or, I fail at watching the baby? What happens if I have to tell him or her that I, I have Epilepsy? Do babies understand that?" Cece didn't mean to ramble, but what if she messed up? She couldn't help when a seizure came, but she could help how she handled things once she'd realized that she'd had one, another one.

"You'll be a great big sister." Both of her parents spoke up in unison again, and Cece tried to relax.

"I was little when Mom told me that I'd be a big brother soon." Luka smiled, "And, I was so happy, but I didn't know how to be a big brother. I learnt how to though. It took a little bit of time, and Juleka, she still loved me just fine. You'll figure it out, Cece." Luka fought a yawn, himself, and Cece felt a little bit better. If kids that didn't have Epilepsy worried about being good big brothers or sisters, that maybe things wouldn't really be so bad. Her daddy knew what being a big sibling was about, so maybe he could teach her.