CHAPTER SIXTEEN: TWO LINES
MAYA
The bathroom tiles were cold under my feet.
The silence was louder than my heartbeat if that was even possible. I stared at the white stick on the counter, watching time drip by like slow honey.
Lola's voice from a memory echoed: "Those two minutes feel like a century. And that second pink line? A revolution."
I wasn't ready for a revolution.
But it was coming.
I closed my eyes. Counted to ten.
And opened them.
Two lines.
Clear. Bold. Unapologetic.
Pregnant.
DAMIAN
I heard the door click before I heard her voice.
She walked in holding the test like it weighed a thousand pounds. Her hands trembled, her face unreadable.
I sat up straighter.
"Well?" I asked softly.
She just nodded.
Then burst into tears.
Not sad. Not fearful. Just overwhelmed.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and opened my arms. She sank into them, curling into my chest like the world had just tilted.
"I didn't know how to tell you," she whispered. "I don't even know what to feel."
I cupped the back of her head. "Then feel everything. With me."
MAYA
Pregnancy wasn't something I had imagined this soon. Not in the middle of healing. Not when the man I loved had just walked through hell.
But life wasn't waiting for permission.
And neither was love.
The doctor confirmed it that afternoon. Six weeks.
Six weeks.
Which meant…
It happened in Madrid.
The hotel balcony. The stars. That moment when he kissed me like he had nowhere else to be and nothing else to lose.
DAMIAN
When the doctor left, I asked Maya to sit with me by the window.
She curled up beside me, resting her head against my shoulder.
"I'm scared," she said quietly.
I didn't lie.
"So am I."
"But I've never wanted anything more," she added.
I kissed her forehead. "Then we'll do this scared."
MAYA
Telling Grandmother Voltaire was… an experience.
She stared at us for a solid minute. No reaction. Just sipped her tea like we'd informed her of a weather change.
Then she said, "Well. It's about time. The family name was beginning to collect dust."
I blinked. "You're… not mad?"
"My dear," she replied, "if I were forty years younger, I'd have three men fighting over who gets to change the diapers. You're brave. And you make my grandson human. This child will be blessed."
Then she handed me a list of names. "For when the time comes. Obviously, I vote to anything starting with Z."
Damian nearly choked on his drink
DAMIAN
There were no fireworks. No dramatic monologues.
Just quiet joy.
And maybe that's what real miracles sound like.
Not thunder.
But a soft whisper that says: Begin again.