Page 113 of Once Upon A Second Chance
It’s comfort, and it’s a beginning.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Penny
I wake up before the sun does.
The light outside the window is the faintest suggestion of morning—just a pale blue hint beyond the curtains. Richard is still asleep, his arm heavy and warm across my waist, his breath soft against the back of my neck. I stay there a while, perfectly still, letting the silence stretch long and comforting.
My body feels… different.
Not dramatically. Not in any way I could pinpoint. Just subtly rearranged. Like I’ve stepped into a new version of myself and the skin hasn’t settled yet.
I slide out of bed carefully so I don’t wake him, tug one of his t-shirts over my body, and pad barefoot into the kitchen.
I turn on the kettle and wait until it starts to hiss low on the stove. I busy my hands with brewing tea even though I know I’ll probably forget about it five minutes in.
My mind is already spinning.
Pregnant.
The word feels soft and huge and impossible.
I lean against the counter, both hands cupping the warm ceramic mug I’ve barely sipped from, and let the thoughts come.
I picture a nursery. Not pink or blue, but soft greens, warm woods, sunlight through gauzy curtains.
A rocking chair. A bookshelf. A tiny onesie with lemons on it that I saw once and thought was so stupidly adorable it made me ache.
I picture tiny hands curling around one of Richard’s fingers. Picture the way he’ll look at them—like they’re a miracle he never thought he deserved.
I also picture the other things.
The disruption of all my routines. The loss of sleep. The fear. What if I’m notenough? What if I lose myself in it? What if I break something that can’t be fixed?
My free hand drifts instinctively to my stomach again.
There’s nothing to feel. No flutter. No curve.
Just the knowledge of possibility.
And the terrifying, aching truth thateverything has already changed.
I take a deep breath, let it out slowly. Try not to panic. Try not to jump ahead.
I remind myself I don’t have to have all the answers yet.
But even as I try to breathe through it, Jesse’s face flashes in my mind—and just like that, the warmth in my chest cools.
Because I know he’s going to make this harder before he even tries to make it better.
Jesse’s been on high alert ever since Mom died.
It was like a switch flipped the day we buried her—older brother became something closer to a sentry. He hovered. He worried. He policed. Andfor a while, I needed it. I was barely keeping myself afloat back then, trying to keep the house, the memories,myselffrom falling apart.
But somewhere along the way, it stopped being about support and started being about control.
Travis made it worse. Jesse never said it outright, but I saw it in the way he looked at me afterward—like I’d failed some invisible test of judgment. Like he’d trusted me to avoid danger and I’d let him down.
