Page 125 of When Love Found Us
“She is.”
His thumb moves in slow circles, his breath warm against my skin.
Atlas presses a slow kiss to my belly, lingering there, breathing her in like she’s already the center of his universe. When he looks up, there’s something raw in his gaze—something that steals my breath and leaves me suspended in the moment.
He cups my face, his thumb brushing over my cheek, his touch reverent.
“We’re gonna be the best parents ever.”
A laugh catches in my throat. “You sure about that?”
His lips curve, but his eyes don’t waver. “I do. You fought to give her a new life.” His thumb traces the edge of my jaw, his voice dropping to something rough, something full. “And I want to spend the rest of mine fighting for you.”
My heart stumbles.
He shifts, reaching into his pocket, and when he pulls out a small velvet box, the world tilts beneath me. My breath stutters, my pulse pounding in my ears as he flips it open to reveal a ring—simple, timeless, breathtaking.
“Marry me,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “Not because of her. Not because of what we’ve been through. But because you are the best damn thing that’s ever happened to me. Because you are the light of my life, and I don’t want another day without you knowing it.”
Tears burn my eyes, my chest tightening with something too big, too overwhelming to contain. “Atlas?—”
“I love you.” His fingers tighten around mine, his voice low and certain. “I have for longer than I’ve known how to say it. And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it to you, if you let me.”
The ring gleams between us, but it’s his eyes that undo me. The way they hold nothing but certainty, nothing but devotion.
A sob-laced laugh breaks free, and I nod, barely able to find my voice. “Yes, of course, I want to marry you.”
His exhale is shaky, his relief palpable as he slides the ring onto my finger, his hands trembling as much as mine.
And then he’s kissing me. Slow and deep, like he’s sealing a promise.
Like he’s branding his soul into mine.
Like he’s never letting go.
And I hope he never does.
Blythe’s Epilogue
The world narrows to pain and pressure, to the relentless pull of something ancient and unstoppable.
I don’t know how long I’ve been here, gripping Atlas’s hand like it might save me, breathing through contractions that tear through me in waves, each one more unbearable than the last. Minutes? Hours? A lifetime?
Everything outside of this room—outside of him, outside of her—ceases to exist.
The rhythmic beep of machines, Simone’s steady instructions, the voices murmuring around me—they’re distant, blurred.
All I know is this:
I can’t do this.
My breath hitches, my body locking up as another contraction slams into me, stealing the air from my lungs.
Atlas is right there, his voice in my ear, his hands never leaving mine. His grip is the only thing tethering me to this room, to this moment.
“You can do it, baby,” he murmurs, his voice low, rough, wrecked with something I can’t name but need more than air. “Breathe. Remember your training.”
Fucking training.
