Chapter 2.

Bella's pregnant.

We knew this was a possibility. When we reached for each other for the first time after her miscarriage, I asked her if she wanted me to wear a condom. She said no.

And though we knew then what we were doing, what we were agreeing to, neither of us ever spoke the word "try."

Six Months Ago.

"Can we talk?" Bella sat me down at the kitchen table, her voice quiet.

The way Bella was perched right on the edge of her chair, her weight on her toes, made me second guess how much progress we'd made in the week since we'd finally opened up to each other.

She didn't look at me as I answered.

"Of course." I gave her a small smile she didn't see.

She twisted a curl around her finger, her eyes darting from the refrigerator, plastered with photos of friends and family and a few designs for wedding dresses which she'd torn from magazines, to the vase of purple flowers on the table. With sunlight drenching the room, long, floral shadows spread across the scarred wood between us.

Bella sighed as she pushed her hair over her shoulder.

"Are you okay?"

She traced a fingertip around the edge of a flower's silhouette before finally bringing her gaze to mine. "I– um … I want to go see – to talk with a counselor."

I reached across the table and captured her hand. "Okay." I rubbed my thumb across her knuckles. "Whatever you need, okay? If you think that will be helpful, then you know I'll support you."

She nodded. "I know. I think I need some help, to process everything, you know? To work through everything that's still a big jumbled mess here–" she tapped her temple "–and here." She pressed her hand to her chest.

"Yeah, for sure. That makes sense."

She rolled her shoulders and licked her lips. "I – Will you come … I think, it would be good. For both of us."

My thumb froze, my grip on her hand loosening. She thinks I need to see a shrink?

"I–" I don't want to. The answer was on the tip of my tongue.

"Just …" She twisted her hand so her fingers were clasped around mine, her thumb stroking my knuckles. "I know it doesn't sound like fun. And you don't have to come, like, every single time. But there are probably some things … it might be easier to talk through some stuff with someone objective there."

I pulled my hand from Bella's and hunched forward in my chair, elbows resting on my knees. I watched the late spring sunshine scattering across the floor as the tree outside the window swayed in the afternoon breeze.

She wants me to see a counselor. Why? Does she think I'm not coping?

Why was I fine with the idea of Bella going, but when she suggested I come, too, it was suddenly harder to breathe? Why were my palms growing clammy? Why did the collar of my shirt feel too tight?

"Edward …"

Squeezing my eyes closed, I tried to focus, to weigh up the merit of her idea.

"Um–"

"I know it sounds horrible," she said. "I–I don't really want to go either."

I looked up at her, surprised. "Then, why?"

Her smile was small and sad. "I guess … It's going to be hard. I imagine it's like … like reopening a wound that's started closing, you know? Painful. I don't want to do it, not at all." She sighed, lacing her fingers together. "But I suppose, I want to check that there's nothing festering in that wound. Nothing that will infect it, and then cause it to burst open months, years down the track."

I slumped back in my chair, my eyes on the ceiling as a small face surfaced in my memories.

The kid's name was Liam—"short for William," he'd told me, his big, brown eyes blinking fast as he fought back tears. He was one of the last kids I saw in the ER—I started my current job in the OR about a week later.

Little Liam had come off his bike, and scrapes down the right side of his body were bleeding through his clothes. I could almost still smell the iodine and bleach as I remembered holding his shaking arm and cleaning the dirt and gravel from the wound—it probably hurt the poor guy more than the original injury did.

"It stings," he said, losing his fight with his tears.

"I know, dude. I'm sorry."

"Do you have to do that to my leg, too?"

I crouched down to his eye level. "Yeah, I do. And I know it sucks, buddy. But I've got to make sure it's all clean so it can get better properly. So it doesn't get infected, okay?"

He screwed up his face, nodding, even as more tears spilled down his dirt-smudged cheeks.

I blinked, focusing my gaze on the cobweb that sprawled from the light fixture to the corner of the room.

Bella was right. Cleaning up, dealing with things as soon as possible was safer than letting them fester unchecked.

So I shoved my pride away, and I took her hand and nodded. "Okay."

And even after six months of therapy, there's a hole in each of our hearts that will never really be filled. We'll both grieve our child for the rest of our lives, in our own ways.

Bella's predicted due date, a blue-sky, perfect Summer's day, was particularly difficult. As Bella confessed, her voice muffled by the comforter she was hiding beneath, in some ways, it felt like losing our baby all over again, marking the date we ought to have been meeting our child.

There have been times when I've watched a new father cradling his child as he and his wife made their slow way out of the hospital foyer, their smiles exhausted but beaming, or when I've prepped a woman for a C-section, reassuring her that she won't be in pain, and reminding her that she's about to meet her child, and I've felt a flare of jealousy and resentment. A reaction which is childish and ugly—a reaction I'm ashamed of. And I've had to remind myself that they might know loss as intimately as we do, and that even if they don't, their happiness is not undeserved.

And there are still times when guilt creeps back under my skin and it's hard to remember that there is no rhyme or reason to loss, and there is no one to blame.

As I continue to stroke her skin, Bella stirs but doesn't speak.

Tentatively, I move the circles I'm tracing on her stomach higher, brushing across her bare breasts, my thumbs rubbing across her nipples. Her breathing falters as she pushes her butt back against me, squirming, letting me know she's awake and answering my unspoken question.

I cup her breast and she stiffens. "They're a bit sore," she mumbles into her pillow.

I add another symptom to my list.

"Sorry." I press a kiss to her shoulder, trailing my fingertips across her skin, feeling her nipples harden. "That feel okay?"

Bella hums, arching her back. "More."

Obliging, I keep my touch gentle and teasing as I play with her breasts, moving my attention from one to the other, and smiling against the smooth skin of her shoulder as she whines and pushes her chest forward, wanting more.

Bella reaches back, her fingers winding into my hair. "Stop teasing me," she says, her voice raspy with sleep and desire.

I move my hand lower, but she wraps her fingers around my wrist, stilling me. "No. I just want you."

She wriggles around under her mountain of blankets until I give her enough space to roll onto her back. "Come here," she tells me.

Settling myself between her parted thighs, I trail kisses up her neck and across her forehead. I want to kiss her mouth, but I know her too well. She worries about the staleness of her breath in the morning, and I've learned not to push.

I kiss her cheek and the corner of her mouth, grinning when I feel her smile.

"I love you," she mumbles, tilting her pelvis.

Without even knowing it, she gives me what I need. I need those words. I need the closeness of making love to her, of feeling her heartbeat against my chest, her breath on my neck, our fingers tangled and her legs wrapped around my hips.

"I love you, too," I tell her, rocking slowly until our bodies are joined.

We move together, the sounds of gasped breaths soft in the dawn, until we tumble into our release.

When we move apart, Bella reaches for some tissues, and we clean up, before she pulls the comforter up around her chin and yawns. Smiling, I kiss her temple and slide my arm across her waist.

Bella drifts off almost immediately, her breathing slow and even, but though my body is limp with residual endorphins, I can't seem to fall back into unconsciousness.

My mind continues to race, worry and hope colliding and becoming tangled until I'm not sure what it is I'm feeling.

Unwinding myself from Bella, I slip out of bed and pull on a pair of sweatpants.

I ignore the closed, white door across the hall from our room, and make my way to the kitchen, flicking on the coffee machine and sliding open the kitchen window. Cool air carries the scent of imminent rain into the house, dragging goosebumps across my chest and arms.

I grab the sweater I left on the couch the previous evening and pull it over my head, before ducking out the front door to collect the papers.

Once the coffee is brewed, I pour a cup and open up to the crossword. I need the distraction.

It's three-quarters solved when Bella shuffles out of the bedroom, her curly hair a mess and her cheek creased with the imprint of her pillow. She leans down to kiss me, smelling of minty toothpaste and whatever it is she uses on her face in the morning.

"Morning," she says.

"Good morning?" I quirk a brow at her and she giggles.

"A very good morning."

She frowns at me as she moves behind the counter, pulling a mug from the cupboard and filling up the kettle.

"You should be wearing these." She tosses my glasses' case at me.

I scrunch up my nose at her. "I don't like them. They make my ears hurt."

She pulls out a herbal tea bag and swings it into her mug. "You'll get used to them." There's a small smile playing around her lips as she fills her cup with boiling water. It doesn't escape me that she's ignoring the pot of coffee I left on the counter.

Sighing, I put the stupid black frames on. The newsprint is a lot clearer now.

Bella sits down beside me and looks over my shoulder. "Eleven across is ceremonial."

I shake my head at her. Irritatingly clever, beautiful woman that she is.

For the next two days, every time I walk in or out of our bedroom, morning or night, the white door to the room across the hall—the room that was supposed to be the nursery—seems to loom larger. Twice, I set my hand to the doorknob before pulling away.

But on Tuesday afternoon, Bella comes home from work and dives straight into the shower—she took a pilates class after she left the office and nothing I can say will convince her to even have a drink with me before she washes.

"Seriously, Edward. I stink so bad. I'm making myself feel sick."

I laugh and shake my head, then grab a clean towel out of the linen closet for her when I remember I forgot to hang some clean ones out when I washed the old ones this morning.

As I wander out of our bedroom, I'm once again drawn to the door across the hall.

Biting my lip, I crack open the door, and my stomach sinks. My gaze is drawn to the opposite wall, to the greens and yellows striped unevenly there. Even though we argued over the colors, I remember the underlying joy, the feeling of anticipation that lingered.

Stepping into the room, I leave the light switched off. A sliver of fading daylight slips in from under a blind that hasn't been pulled the whole way down.

Can I let myself get excited about this? Can I let my hope build and my dreams grow, and can I let myself start wondering if the baby will have Bella's brown eyes and curly hair?

And then, as I'm picturing a chubby toddler sitting on Bella's lap, I realize I'm already there.

I know there's only a limited period of time before she realizes she's pregnant. When was her last period? I rack my brain, but I've got nothing. She complained about cramps at some point and I know I filled up a hot water bottle and brought her a few Midol tablets. When was that? Two weeks ago? Three?

Was it longer than that? Was it more than four weeks ago?

I don't think it was, but it's possible. Dates tend to blur when my roster has me flipping between day and night shifts like I have been for the last couple of months.

It occurs to me that maybe she's already late, but she hasn't said anything to me because she's scared.

I brush away the prickle of hurt. I know, and I haven't said anything to her.

Sighing, I move to the window. I run a finger across the sill, watching the dust gather into a fuzzy, grey ball at my touch. After we came home from the hospital, I closed this door, and as far as I'm aware, neither of us have opened up the room since.

It smells kind of stale in here.

My hand shakes as I tug on the blinds, and I squint as light invades the room. When I slide open the window, crisp fall air rushes into the room, stirring up the dust. I tuck my nose against my shoulder to muffle my sneeze.

"Edward?"

Shit.

Man up, I tell myself.

"I'm in here."

My eyes on the doorway, I watch until Bella shuffles into view, her dark eyes wary. She glances around the room, her hands tightening into fists.

"What …" She shakes her head, and though she doesn't meet my gaze, I can read her guilt in the way she licks her lips, in the way she doesn't just ask me why I'm in here.

She knows.

"I – Bella?"

She looks up, her expression begging me to understand.

I step toward her, reaching for her. She hesitates, but lets me snag her hand.

"Are you late?"

She shakes her head. "Not yet."

"But you know?"

She nods, coiling her shower-damp hair around her index finger. "At least, I'm pretty sure."

I want to ask her when she realized, but it doesn't matter. There are other things to worry about. "What … Do we … Should we …"

She tugs at her hair. "I bought a couple of tests on my way home this afternoon. I - uh … will you come sit with me?"

"You want me to sit with you while you pee?"

Her smile is small, but it's there. "Of course not," she says. "That's gross. But after."

I pull her into my arms, pressing my lips to her temple. "Of course I will."

So I stand outside while she pees on the little stick, and when I hear the toilet flush I slip into the bathroom. Bella holds my gaze through the mirror as she washes her hands. She looks nervous.

"Three minutes," she tells me. I glance at my watch.

Moving behind her as she dries her hands, I place my hands on her hips and kiss her neck. "I love you."

She leans back, tipping her head to look up at me. "I love you, too."

We sway together, my chin on Bella's shoulder, each second seeming to drag its ass as we wait.

"Time," I say.

Before Bella reaches for the stick, I grab her hand and spin her around so we're face to face. "Sweetheart, no matter what …" I shake my head. I don't know how to articulate what I want her to know.

"Hey," she says. "It's okay." She stands on tiptoe and kisses me hard, and it feels like she's trying to tell me that thing I can't put into words with her lips and tongue.

Pulling away, she picks up the stick but doesn't look at it. Instead, she hands it to me. It's shaking. No, my hands are shaking. I flip it over and blink. "Two lines means positive, right?"

Bella grabs it from me. "Yeah," she says. "Yeah. Positive." She looks up at me, and her eyes are shining with tears.

"Are you okay?"

Blinking hard she nods. "Yeah. I am." She scrapes her teeth over her bottom lip. "Are you?"

"I think so." I can't really be sure. I mean, I'm ecstatic … and terrified.

Bella tosses the pregnancy test into the trash can.

"You don't want …"

"What?" She huffs a laugh. "To keep it? Ew, Edward. I peed on it."

Taking my hand she pulls me out to the living room. She flicks on the lights and pushes me toward the couch. "Sit. Talk."

I'm caught by surprise. "What?"

Bella sighs as she sits down beside me. "You knew. How?"

"Your skin." I trail my fingers across her cheek. "It's crazy-soft. And your hair's all shiny. And your breasts are sore, and you haven't been drinking coffee."

She chuckles. "I can't complain that you don't pay attention, can I?"

That makes me smile. Bella seems relaxed, happy. The words blurt from my mouth. "How are you so calm about this? Aren't you … Are you scared?"

Her smile fades, and I wish I could swallow the words back down. She turns toward me and tents her knees over my lap. Like magnets are pulling them, I place my hands on her ankles, sliding them under her jeans, rubbing circles around the knobbly bones.

"Yeah, a bit," she says. "But when we … well, when we started having sex again and we decided not to use protection, I talked with Tanya about it—about what it would mean for me, for you, for us, when or if I got pregnant again."

Huh. I didn't even really think to bring that up with Dr. Denali.

"I'm trying to be positive," she says. "Realistic, but positive. I did some research. One in four pregnancies end in miscarriage. And though some women do have two miscarriages—or more—it's actually quite rare."

She wriggles a little, kicking her feet until I get the hint to start rubbing them. "So, yeah. I'm scared. Losing another baby, I just … I can't fathom it. But I'm also excited." Her smile starts small, but grows quickly, lifting her cheeks and squinting her eyes. "Like, really, really excited. We're going to have a baby, Edward."

Speechless, my heart banging around in my chest like it's trying to escape, I drag Bella onto my lap and fasten my lips to hers. She moans into my kiss and the sound ignites something inside me.

Tugging at each other's clothes, tripping over our own feet, we stumble into our bedroom, naked by the time Bella's knees hit the end of the mattress.

Hands find fistfuls of hair, our kisses are hard and demanding, as we work ourselves into a kind of frenzy. As our bodies move together, it feels as though satiation is impossible. I can never get enough of the taste of her lips, her skin, of being inside her, of making her gasp like that and moan like this.

Eventually, Bella pushes me off her, swearing under her breath. She shoves at me until I roll onto my back. "Driving me crazy," she mutters as she starts moving over me. Her eyes closed, her head thrown back, she takes what she needs from my body, and it's glorious to watch.

My teeth gritted, I barely manage to hold myself back until she wilts against me, her mouth falling open. I follow her over the edge with a groan.

Breathing heavily, I smile when, her head heavy on my chest, Bella starts giggling.

"That was pretty amazing."

"Uh-huh."

After a few minutes, Bella wriggles off me, and bounces off the bed. She ducks into our bathroom and I stare at the ceiling, forcing my eyes to stay open while she cleans up.

She ignores my raised arm when she climbs back onto the bed. Sitting cross legged, she scoops my sweater off the floor and pulls it on. "Why didn't you tell me you knew?"

I run my hand through my sweat damp hair. Honestly is the best policy, I figure. "I was worried … about how you would feel about it. I–I just don't want to see you hurting that way again."

Bella presses her lips together, looking at me thoughtfully.

"I want to be annoyed at you," she says. "But I can't, because I didn't tell you right away, for exactly the same reason."

It takes a moment for what she's saying to sink in. "You were worried about me hurting?"

Bella nods, her fingers tracing the line of ink that circles my bicep. "You're don't have the market cornered on feeling protective, you know."

"I–" have no idea what to say to that.

My fiancée smiles small. "But I'd decided to tell you tonight. Even if you hadn't been in the nursery, I would have told you."

I grab her hand from where it's resting on my arm and set it over my heart. She's got to be able to feel the way it's pounding, the hope and love and joy that are filling my chest and making it hard for me to speak. I manage to choke out the words. "I love you."

"I know," she says, her eyes full of happiness. "Hey, Edward?"

I lift my eyebrows.

"We're having a baby."

A/N: Oh my gosh. I'm completely humbled and overwhelmed by your kind reviews. I'm heartbroken, too, by the stories you have shared with me. So many of you know this pain intimately - having suffered the loss of a child through miscarriages, stillbirth, or child death. My heart goes out to you all.

My sincerest apologies that I haven't replied to every review. I do cherish every single one of them.

Thank you all so much for reading.

To BelieveItOrNot - you are sunshine, smiles, hot cups of tea, and my toes in the ocean.

Shell x