Almost Love, Then Everything - Chapter 52: Chapter 52

The rain had begun just after sunset. Not a storm — not like the ones that used to rattle the windows and mirror the chaos in their hearts — but a soft, steady downpour. It blanketed the city in quiet, as if the world itself had decided to whisper instead of shout.
Inside the apartment, lights were dimmed. A lullaby hummed softly from the speaker in the corner, playing on loop. The scent of chamomile tea lingered in the air, along with the faint sweetness of baby lotion and warm cotton.
Leah sat in the rocking chair by the window, her legs tucked under her, holding the most delicate part of her world against her chest. Their daughter, swaddled in a pastel blanket, had just fallen asleep after an hour of gentle humming and warm milk. Her small breaths puffed softly against Leah’s skin, and her tiny hand gripped the edge of Leah’s shirt as though it were the only thing keeping her grounded in the world.
Leah looked down at her, marveling — again — at the way such a tiny life could make everything feel so new. So sacred.
It had taken time to get here. Time, patience, faith, and the soft labor of two people choosing each other over and over again — especially on the days it would’ve been easier to walk away.
She heard the faint creak of the hallway floorboards. Jade.
Jade stepped into the room wearing an oversized hoodie and soft grey sweatpants, a bottle of water in one hand and a folded burp cloth in the other. Her dark hair was still damp from the shower, curling gently around her face. She paused in the doorway, just to take in the sight.
“Still up?” she whispered.
Leah smiled without looking up. “I didn’t want to put her down yet. She made that little sigh again, the one that sounds like she’s dreaming.”
Jade chuckled quietly, stepping closer. “She probably is. She had a full day — staring at ceiling fans, throwing up on me twice, and demanding your full attention.”
Leah glanced up at her with soft, tired eyes. “Sounds a lot like someone else I know.”
Jade grinned, crouching down beside the rocker. “Guilty.”
She reached out and gently touched their daughter’s cheek with the back of her fingers. “She’s so small.”
“She won’t stay that way,” Leah said, voice thick with emotion. “That’s the part that breaks me.”
“We’ll get to watch her grow,” Jade said, resting her hand over Leah’s. “We’ll get to teach her how to be brave. How to love. How to feel things deeply and still stand tall.”
Leah was quiet for a while. Then she whispered, “Sometimes I still wonder how we got here.”
Jade looked at her with a softness that only deepened with the years. “Because we didn’t give up.”
The silence after those words wasn’t empty. It was full — of memory, of meaning. All the years that had led to this moment. The tears, the distance, the fear… and then, the slow return. The forgiveness. The rediscovery of hands that still knew how to hold each other.
They had once been two lonely hearts trying to pretend they weren’t. But now — now they were three. A family.
Leah gently shifted, and Jade took the baby from her arms with the ease of someone who had memorized her weight. She held her close, walking slowly toward the small crib in the corner of the room — the one they built together on a rainy Saturday, with instructions spread out on the floor and laughter filling the walls.
“She’s out,” Jade whispered, lowering her carefully onto the mattress. “Goodnight, little star.”
They watched for a few moments as she adjusted, her tiny hand twitching once before settling.
Leah came up behind Jade, wrapping her arms around her waist and resting her chin on her shoulder. “Did you ever imagine this?”
“Not in the beginning,” Jade admitted. “Back then, I couldn’t even imagine us making it to the end of the week without falling apart.”
Leah smiled. “And now look at us. Midnight diaper changes, feeding schedules, crying over baby socks.”
Jade turned to face her, slipping her arms around Leah. “I’d do it all again. Every fight. Every step back. Just to end up here.”
Their kiss was quiet. Familiar. No longer desperate or unsure. Just full of knowing. Of safety. Of years that softened the sharpest edges.
“Want to go to bed?” Jade asked softly.
Leah nodded. “But not yet. Let’s just... stay here a little longer.”
So they did.
They curled up on the couch, wrapped in the same blanket they once argued under, once held each other beneath in moments of confusion and comfort. And now, it held all of that history — and something more: a future they had dared to hope for.
Leah rested her head on Jade’s shoulder. “I don’t know what she’ll grow up to be. Who she’ll love, what she’ll believe in. But I hope she sees us and knows love doesn’t have to be perfect. Just true.”
Jade tightened her arm around her. “And that she was born from it.”
Outside, the rain continued to fall — not heavy, not storming. Just steady. Just right.
And in the warm quiet of their home, two hearts that had once been broken beat stronger than ever — now joined by a third, learning how to love by watching them.