Page 103 of In Love With Mr. Wrong

“What?” I ask, pausing the video.

She holds something out to me, a photo. It’s the two of us, laughing in front of the old Perfectly Matched office before it became a battleground. We’re younger in it, freer. The kind of joy that doesn’t know what’s coming but chooses to show up anyway.

I flip it over. On the back, in her handwriting, is a note:You’re the only legacy I want her to inherit.

I don’t say anything right away. My chest is tight in the best way. I set the photo down gently and press a kiss to her temple.

“She’s going to know how hard we fought for her,” I say quietly.

“She’ll never doubt she’s wanted.”

Olivia calls: “Quick reminder,” she says, “no corporate metaphors in the delivery room.”

“I make no promises,” I say. “If I reference our daughter’s launch window, just mute me.”

Priya texts a photo of baked goods with the caption:For the waiting room. Or the aftermath. Or bribes.Sophie sends a video of herself reading from a baby name book: She’s wearing a tiara and drinking kombucha. “Please, for the love of sass and syllables, do not name her Ember or Bluelynn. This child deserves vowels and dignity.” Alexandra texts a link to a curated list of influential female CEOs:In case you want inspiration that doesn’t rhyme with Kayleigh.Even Mason checks in. His message is short:Godspeed, bro. Whiskey's waiting.

I read all of them aloud while Margot laughs, clutching her belly with one hand and wiping her eyes with the other.

“Okay, so we’re officially surrounded by lunatics,” she says.

“The best kind.”

“The loyal kind.”

“The ones who’ll babysit when we bribe them enough.”

She grins. “Exactly.”

***

By eleven, the penthouse is quiet. The city outside has softened into shadows and headlights. We’re in bed, lying on our sides, facing each other. My hand rests gently over her belly, feeling the faint, rhythmic movement of the baby rolling under her skin.

“I’m not ready,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.

Margot studies me for a long moment. “Why?”

“Because I want to get it right. I want to be the kind of father who’s there for every second. Who doesn’t screw it up. Who doesn’t...”

I trail off. She reaches out and traces a slow line across my cheekbone.

“You already are,” she says. “You’ve shown up for me, every single day. You’re going to show up for her. That’s all she’ll ever need.”

“I just… I didn’t grow up with that. Not in the way she will.”

Margot leans in, presses her forehead to mine. “Which is exactly why you’ll be good at it.”

I close my eyes, letting her words settle. Letting the fear fall away, piece by piece.

“I love you,” I say.

She smiles. “I know.”

***

It’s just past midnight when it happens. Margot shifts beside me. Then tenses.

I sit up instantly. “Are you okay?”

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