Page 187 of Diego

I find myself staring.

This is the man who is going to be the father of my child.

The thought is not new. I have known that since the night I told him I was pregnant. I have watched him react to the ultrasound, watched him sit beside me in the hospital, watched him reorganize his life around keeping me safe while I recover.

But this is the first time I can actually see it.

There is no uncertainty in the way he handles Leonardo. He knows where to put his hands when the toddler twists unexpectedly. He knows when to let him climb and when to catch him. When Leonardo reaches toward the table, Diego automatically moves the phone farther out of reach without interrupting whatever nonsense response he is giving to the boy’s babbling. It is all instinctive and practiced.

I picture those same hands holding a much smaller baby.

Mine.

Ours.

The image comes so easily that it catches me off guard.

For weeks, pregnancy has felt like a collection of things happening to my body and decisions I have to make. Tests. Appointments. Nausea. Fear. The hematoma. The terrifying possibility of losing the baby.

Watching Diego with Leonardo makes the future feel more real.

A baby who needs to be held.

A toddler who reaches for him.

A child who knows his voice.

My throat tightens unexpectedly.

I look toward the lake before anyone can notice.

Victoria shifts beside me, and when I glance back, she is watching Leonardo rather than me. If she noticed anything, she has the grace to leave it alone.

Leonardo has apparently decided Diego is now playground equipment. He plants both hands on Diego’s chest and attempts to stand on his thighs.

“Ambitious,” Diego murmurs, steadying him around the waist.

Victoria laughs. “He’s been trying that all week.”

“He has no respect for personal boundaries.”

Leonardo leans forward and grabs a fistful of Diego’s sweater.

“None,” Diego adds.

I smile despite the strange pressure still sitting in my chest.

Victoria checks the time on her phone and exhales. “We should probably go before Leonardo gets fully riled up. I might be able to get him to nap a little while longer in the car.”

She gets up and starts gathering the scattered evidence of a day spent with a toddler. There is a cup under the coffee table, a toy near the terrace doors, another toy somehow beneath the sofa, and the blanket Leonardo slept on. I start to lean forward automatically, intending to help.

Diego looks at me in warning from where he’s gathering more toys.

I sit back.

“I was only thinking about it.”

“Excellent decision,” he says before continuing.