It had only taken an eternity, but for the first time since Henry I was used to going to sleep and waking up next to someone. In Germany, I had an adjustment phase. I confined myself to my own side of the bed, even causing myself back pain from the effort it took to keep just my toes away from Henry's side. But the more familiar I was with being alone, the more I started to spread out. By the time Owen visited that night, I had gotten myself so used to sleeping diagonally and taking up the entire bed that he was lucky I remembered how to share.

Before I came back to Seattle, it was the same as it was after losing Henry. I sent Owen home, replaced the pink blanket on my bed with the blue one I rarely used, and went back to sleeping on my own side. After one night, I had gotten used to something that wasn't even mine to get used to. That one night had sent me right back to square one.

But now? Things were so different that it made my head spin just thinking about it. I was on my own side of the bed, but this time held in place by a pair of strong arms wrapped around my waist. Every once in a while, my legs would start to drift over to Owen's side, but instead of finding freezing cold sheets that sent a chill down my spine every time, I found a person who took that as an opportunity to snuggle even closer to me. I woke up every morning to Owen's face buried in my hair and his arms circled around me. Every day, there was less and less room for him to do it because of the baby, but neither of us cared. He was happy to hold me and I was happy to be held. Some mornings, I intentionally waited until he woke up to get out of bed, just so I wouldn't interrupt whatever it was he was dreaming about. He was so peaceful, and we had been told by every parent we knew that we should be soaking up all of the sleep-filled nights while we still had the chance.

"Good morning, beautiful," Owen whispered, face still pressed against the side of my head, snapping me out of my daydream.

"Good morning," I whispered, tilting my head to kiss his cheek.

"You're overthinking something," he said, propping himself up on his arm to look down on me and tapping his finger gently on my forehead. "What's going on in there?"

"What isn't?" I answered, poking him back in just the right place on his arm that it gave out, making him fall back down onto the pillow.

"Hey," he said, with that laugh that I loved as an added bonus. "Are you not a morning person today?"

"That was payback for spraying whipped cream in my face when we made waffles."

"That was months ago," he argued.

"That," I shot back between bursts of laughter, "was yesterday morning."

"Oh. Right."

With the arm that hadn't just gotten poked, he reached over and ran his fingers through my hair, stumbling slightly over the places where my curls were especially slept-on.

"No, really. What are you thinking about?"

"You," I said. Short and sweet and entirely truthful.

"What about me?"

"I just…can't believe this is my life. You know me. You know where I've been, who I've lost…so this feels like a dream. Like I'm living something out of someone else's existence and any second, I'm going to wake up and be back in my boyfriend-less, baby-less, Seattle-less widow life. But I'm not. You're here and we're thriving and every time I wake up, it's with you right beside me. For the first time in my entire life, I don't feel like I'm about to lose everything. I feel like a normal person. I feel alive. And I have you to thank for that."

"I'm choosing to ignore that this is the third time you've told me that in the past week and a half," Owen said, with a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "I love you. To the moon and back."

I rolled over to give him my best attempt at a hug while still in bed, saying my "I love you too" right into his shoulder.

"But…" he said softly, and I sat up so fast that the baby gave me a sharp kick in the ribs.

"Sorry," I whispered to her. "But what?"

"Nothing."

"Owen."

"It's nothing, I promise. I just hate the word 'boyfriend.' And while we're on that subject, girlfriend is a pretty stupid word, too. Don't you think? It's so…I don't know. Fifth grade. Doesn't it just make you think of having a crush on someone and slipping a "Do you like me? Check yes or no" note into their locker?"

"Not..not really," I said, fighting the urge to laugh. "But maybe that's just because I told my crushes I liked them instead of bothering to write a note. I grew up in New York City, Owen. Where I went to school, writing a note was the coward's way out."

"If that's the case, you're going to hate what's under your pillow."

I raised my eyebrows at him and felt under my pillow until I found half of a sheet of paper.

Do you like me: check yes or no.

"Owen, what the hell—"

"I'll take that as a yes," he said. "I remember you telling me that story years ago. I couldn't resist. I'm sorry. I still love messing with your head. But…all jokes aside, flip it over."

Sorry. I had to. If you've forgiven me for that god-awful joke and feel like metaphorically checking yes (because WHY would you have a pen if you just woke up?), find the pink blanket.

"Owen, what's going on?"

"Just do it. It'll be fun, trust me," he said, letting me use his arm for support as I got out of bed.

The pink blanket was right where I had accidentally left it the night before—at the bottom of the stairs, where I had thrown it in frustration when I had tried to fold it and found out that the baby now made it impossible for me to bend down far enough to put it in the basket with the rest of the blankets. But now there was a note on top of it.

"Owen, I love you, but I can't bend over enough to reach that," I said, and he leaned down effortlessly to pick it up and hand it to me.

"Showoff…" I whispered, making him laugh again.

I know how stupid it sounds that something as insignificant as a blanket can mean the whole entire world to me. But thank you for not getting rid of it when you moved. When I see it in our house, all I can think of is watching the snow with you in Germany. I know that night ended terribly. I know I hurt you. And for that, I am so deeply sorry, more than you could ever know or understand. You're stubborn enough that you'll tell me you do, but you don't. Thinking about that night makes me feel like there's a rock in my chest where my heart should be.

At the same time though, I think it was the push we needed to get us talking about our problems again. Since that night, we've been more open and honest with each other than we EVER have been before, and I'm grateful for that. I got used to how closed off you've been before, and it's refreshing to hear about what's going on in that brain of yours. Even if it's just what happened to you during the day. I love to hear it.

And it doesn't hurt that we got a baby out of that night, too. You're the family I've always dreamed of. There is not a day that goes by that I don't spend at least an hour daydreaming about what it will be like when the baby gets here. Family Halloween costumes…both of you waking me up at the crack of dawn on Christmas morning because you're too excited to stay in bed another minute…making snow angels in the backyard…those daydreams are going to be a reality in a few months. I know it's only October, but I can't get it out of my head. All of it. We're going to be so happy.

By this point, the words looked blurred, and I blinked a few times before I realized I'd been crying.

"Hey, no tears," Owen said, coming up behind me and gently squeezing my shoulders.

"I can at least pretend it's the hormones, right?"

"Sure you can," he said, kissing the top of my head. "Don't stop yet, though. There's one more."

I flipped the paper over and over, looking for some sign of another clue, but there wasn't one.

"I think I need some coffee, do you want anything?"

"Owen…"

"Oh, you want the next clue?"

I didn't even bother hiding my confusion this time, especially not when Owen got two mugs out of the cabinet above the stove and pulled a piece of paper out of one of them.

I stand by what I said earlier. Girlfriend is a stupid word. And let's be honest, I've had enough of them for one lifetime. I have had SO many girlfriends.

"Owen, what am I looking at? Believe me, of all people, I know how many girlfriends you've had."

"Keep reading."

But you're different.

I love you in a way that I didn't know I was able to love another person. In a way that makes my heart want to explode out of my chest when I look at you.

I want to argue about baby names and paint colors, I want to take the kids to school together before we go to work, and seriously, WHY don't we have a dog yet?

You are my family. My person. Out of all of the people that have come in and out of my life, you're the one I want to stick. I don't want to live another day without you. And I sure as hell don't want to call you anything as stupid and temporary as my "girlfriend."

With the hand that wasn't holding his own coffee, Owen reached out and handed me a mug.

"I wouldn't drink that if I were you," he said, winking, and I felt my heart begin to pound as I looked into the mug and saw a ring staring back. Owen gently tugged the mug out of my hand and tipped the ring into his palm.

"I never want to call you my girlfriend again," he said softly, taking my hand in his and dropping down to one knee. "I want to call you my wife."

I had never been the kind of person who cried in front of other people, but the tears in my eyes were having a free-for-all.

"You are everything I never realized I wanted, and by the time I figured it out, I was so scared that it would be too late, that I had missed my chance this time. But you gave me another one, and I got my head on straight. It's you. It's always been you. And I never want it to be anyone else again."

"Yes," I whispered.

"No fair, I didn't even ask you yet," Owen argued playfully.

"I'm sorry," I said, letting a giggle escape through the tears.

"Will you marry me?"

"Yes," I whispered, unable to keep myself still as he slid the ring onto my finger and letting my legs give out so I could collapse into his arms. "It's always been you for me, too."