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Theo rockets back in, slams into Simon’s legs, and announces that he needs to get his new second room set up for his birthday party so his friends can play in it.

“We’re going to move your toys to the basement, where the TV is.” Simon tells him. “You’ll get a whole play area for your stuff and your friends.”

Theo screams in delight before running off again.

Simon’s hands find my hips, thumbs rubbing slow circles through my shirt like he can physically settle the skip in my chest.

I force words past the lump in my throat. “A few more kids?”

His mouth curves, helpless. “Yeah. Eventually. I told you I wanted Theo to have more siblings. It’s why I got such a big house.”

I’d already suspected that was why he bought such a big house, and he had mentioned before that he didn’t want Theo to be an only child. The knowledge that he wants more kids isn’t a surprise. It’s just a harsh reminder that at one point, Simon considered a family that didn’t include me, and I’d never been able to do the same. Not once. Not even on the worst nights, when I told myself I was done, when I tried to imagine someone else in the doorway, someone else carrying the heavy end. It had always been him. Even when it wasn’t allowed to be.

“Blaire.” He sighs and kisses my hair. “That’s not—I didn’t mean to—”

I cut him off before he can ramble and make me even more of an emotional mess. “Let’s just get back to unpacking. I still haven’t found the coffee maker. That needs to be a priority.”

He chuckles against my temple. “I’ve met you in the morning, sweet girl. I already have the coffee maker set aside.”

We both put a pin in the baby conversation. For now.

Simon tackles the kitchen. I take the bedroom. Our bedroom. The words still sit strange in my thoughts.

Simon’s closet—our closet—is nowhere near too full for my things. The man apparently only owns about eight shirts that aren’t military issued, a row of identical dark tees, and jeans that all look like the same pair in different stages of giving up. I hang my dresses next to his uniforms and try not to think about how natural it feels to put my clothes away in here.

Theo bangs something into a wall. Then again. He’s dragging toys downstairs and toward the corner Simon designated as the new play space.

I stand in the closet with a hanger in my hand and let my brain do what it always does when my hands are busy.

I want another baby with him.

I also want to do it right this time.

Wedding first. A real one.

I should stop avoiding the hard conversations. Marriage. More kids. Sex.

Fuck, I want to have sex.

I want it so badly my skin feels too tight. Maybe I should drop the whole stupid thing about waiting for results and just use condoms. I’m still not back on birth control anyway, so it’s not like the results being negative would mean we don’t use one anyway. It was never really about the test results anyway, it was about taking back some kind of control. Another way to make myself feel better about the years he spent putting his hands on other woman on the nights I was busy with our child. About the fact that he got to leave and I got stretch marks and a toddler and a nightstand full of silicone.

I hang another blouse.

I should tell him. Tonight. After Theo’s down. I should say I don’t want to wait anymore.

I am still standing there trying to find the version of myself that can say all of that without shaking, when his voice cuts through the house.

“Blaire? Blaire?”

Simon’s voice hits the hallway sharp, frantic, getting closer fast. I barely get out of the closet before he’s in the bedroom doorway, phone in his hand, breathing like he ran the stairs. Skin flushed. Eyes blown.

My heart slams so hard I go dizzy.

“What’s wrong? What happened?”

Deployment. That’s the first place my brain goes. Now. Tonight. Right when we finally stopped circling and put our lives in the same closets. I open my mouth and nothing comes out.

“Test results.” He blurts it, thrusting the phone at me. “I got the results.”