"You make me want things I never thought I could have. A family. Peace. A future that's more than just violence and power."
"You can have those things."
"Can I? Can a man like me really have a normal life?"
"Maybe not normal. But real. Genuine." I cover his hands with mine. "I believe that. I have to believe that."
He kisses me. Soft, almost reverent. When he pulls back, his eyes are bright with unshed tears.
"I don't deserve you."
"Good thing it's not about deserving. It's about choosing."
"And you choose me? Even knowing what I am?"
"I choose you. Every day. Even when you're being controlling and overprotective and making decisions without asking me."
He almost smiles. "I'm working on that."
"I know. And I'm working on not being reckless."
"We're a work in progress."
"The best things usually are."
He climbs into bed beside me, and I curl into his side, careful of his stitches. His arm comes around me, holding me close.
"Tell me something good," he says. "Something hopeful."
"The baby's the size of a lemon now. I looked it up. Tiny fingers and toes. A heartbeat we could hear if we had the right equipment."
"A lemon. That’s … specific."
"Pregnancy apps are very specific. Next week it'll be a different fruit."
"What fruit?"
"I don't know. I'll have to check."
"Will you tell me? When you find out?"
"Of course."
He's quiet for a moment. "I want to go to the appointments. See the ultrasounds. Hear the heartbeat."
"We haven't scheduled any yet. I've been too busy with everything else."
"We should. I'll have Margareta find the best obstetrician in the city. Someone who makes house calls if you're not comfortable going to an office."
"Okay. We'll do that."
"And we should start thinking about names."
"Already?"
"Why not? We have time to decide, but we can start considering options."
"Do you have any preferences?"