Page 215 of Josephine and Clay

“It made me want it.”

Clay doesn’t speak right away.

I press my fingers together in my lap. “That’s scarier.”

“Because you think wanting it means it can be taken away.”

I look at him sharply.

He lifts one shoulder. “I’m learning from the best. Cutting straight through the bullshit, right?”

A reluctant smile tugs at my mouth, but it doesn’t last. “I spent years building a life where I didn’t have to depend on anybody. It wasn’t perfect, but it was mine, and I knew what would happen every day because I controlled as much of it as possible.”

Clay leans back against the swing, listening.

“My family wasn’t…” I stop, searching for the cleanest version of a messy truth. “They weren’t reliable. Support came with strings, or judgment, or disappointment waiting at the end. So I got good at not needing it.”

“That sounds lonely.”

“It was efficient.”

Crickets chirp beyond the porch while I gather my thoughts.

“When I found out I was pregnant, I was terrified, but part of me still knew how to function. Make lists, build a budget, find childcare, rearrange my schedule. Prepare for the worst possible outcome and pretend that means I’m calm.”

Clay’s mouth twitches faintly, but his eyes stay serious.

“Then I found out there were two,” I continue, hand drifting to my stomach. “And suddenly the plan didn’t feel big enough. Nothing did.”

His hand moves slowly, giving me plenty of time to pull away before he touches me.

“I’m sorry you were scared alone,” he says.

The words are simple, but they land hard because he doesn’t try to excuse any of it. He doesn’t promise I’ll never feel scared again, which would be impossible and insulting. He just sits beside me and acknowledges the part that hurt most.

“I didn’t want you to feel trapped,” I whisper.

His jaw tightens. “I hate that you had to worry about that.”

“I still worry about it.”

“I know.”

“I’m serious, Clay. Today was huge and emotional, and maybe right now you mean everything because it’s new. Because you’re relieved, or shocked, or trying to do the right thing.”

“I am trying to do the right thing.”

“That’s not enough for me.”

He nods once, expression steady. “Good.”

That throws me. “Good?”

“Yeah. You shouldn’t settle for me doing this out of guilt.”

“I don’t want you to resent us.”

His gaze fixes on mine. “Us?”