Archive of Our Own

You’ve gotten spoiled lately.

It’s Joel’s fault, undoubtedly. The past few weeks of living with him have been… is there a word stronger than perfect? 

It’s so unbelievable, really. You want for nothing. He takes care of you, he cooks for Sarah and you and he nags you about your blood pressure and sleeping enough and he makes you cum until you’re seeing stars. 

It’s love, what you feel for each other. Love you’ve never known before; new and confusing but unbelievably beautiful either way. You’ve carved out a little place in his life; your chair in his living room, your art on the walls, your hand in Sarah’s as you cross the street. 

You notice him watching you, always, perceiving you in ways you’d never believed anyone could know you. Mostly because you didn’t think anyone would ever care to.

There’s a sting, a pain in your chest at the loss of your family. You miss your siblings, most of all. Your parents won’t let you speak to them, and aside from the occasional text with your oldest one, there’s no contact. You’re afraid to drop by the house, Joel doesn’t want you going alone, but you don’t think it would go well if he and your dad saw each other again.

But it’s soothed, that ache, by the family you’ve gained here. Tommy, his wife Maria and their daughter. Joel and Sarah. Your baby. Even though there’s a vast emptiness inside of you, you somehow feel full at the same time. 

Still, you can’t deny that you’re upset when the doctor tells you your plans of delivering at a birth center are “ill advised.”

“With your high blood pressure, we think it best to deliver in the hospital,” she explains, while Joel grips your hand and listens intently. He comes to every appointment, even though they’re getting more pointless and more common. Twice a week until the baby comes- insane . 

“You’re worried about them?” Joel asks her, keeping his intense eyes on the doctor’s face, studying her for some sort of secret thing you can’t seem to decipher.

“Not worried, not yet,” she replies carefully. Her gaze travels to your swollen stomach, exposed on the cot as you lay back. “Everything looks good. Baby is turned, measurements are all where they should be. These are good things. I know you’ve been working on the stress, but sometimes high blood pressure is out of our control. I just think it would be best for both mommy and baby to be somewhere with immediate access to medical intervention, if necessary.”

“What… kind of intervention?” you ask warily. Joel squeezes your hand once, but the comfort of the gesture is lost in your panic at her words.

“Whether it be a c-section or more minor interventions, a hospital just presents less risk.” The doctor smiles thinly. “I don’t want you to stress over this. It’s still your decision. But we’re running out of time for a choice here, so make your plans as soon as possible. If the two of you don’t have any other questions, we’re done for today.”

You glance at Joel, and he shakes his head, though he looks displeased. The doctor excuses herself.

“You okay?” Joel asks as he leans over to help you into a sitting position on the cot. You slide your shirt down, exhaling. 

“I…guess,” you reply carefully.

“We’ll get one of them real nice hospital rooms,” he offers, “the ones with the big ass tubs.”

Against your will, your mouth curves into a smile. “A tub, hm?”

“Get your mind outta the gutter, little lady. I been readin’ up. Tub is supposed to help.”

You arch an eyebrow at him. “Reading up?”

“Yeah,” he replies gruffly, helping you down from the cot with one arm braced around your hips. “You know, there’s these things called books.”

Rolling your eyes, you pull away to look at him. His expression is defensive, lips tight, almost like he’s embarrassed.

“Joel,” you say with disbelief, “you read a baby book?”

“Gimme a little credit, honey. I read three.” He waves off your elated reaction with a brush of his hand. “Don’t make it a big deal. It’s been a while since Sarah was born and I wanted to make sure I wasn’t forgettin’ nothin’.”

You can’t help the beaming smile you aim his way. “So? Were you forgetting anything?”

“Nope. Turns out I didn’t know nothin’ to begin with.”

You laugh, but your heart is warmed to the core by his efforts. “Alright, I didn’t read any baby books. What’s the tub for?”

“Supposed to help with the pain.” He shrugs, grabbing your purse off the chair and slinging it over his own shoulder before you can reach for it. “Doubt it makes much difference, but the books say it might.”

“Sounds messy,” you muse as you follow him into the hallway.

Joel snorts. “Hate to break it to you baby, but the whole thing’s gonna be pretty messy.”

You shudder. “Maybe you can do it for me.”

He’s laughing as he holds the office door open for you, but his expression softens. “If I could, I would honey.”

“Liar.”

“You caught me.”

Things are going so well, life is so unimaginably good, it’s hard to let much ruin it. 

You’ve never been a positive person, never been the type to focus on the good. You just put your head down and did what you had to do, worrying little about fantasies and unattainable ideas of happiness.

Your due date is one week away when she shows up at your office. Really, Joel has been trying to get you to take early maternity leave, but you’d insisted on working as long as possible. He already takes care of you in so many ways, you at the very least wanted to be able to help save up some money. He’d argued it wasn’t necessary, and you explained that you wanted to do it regardless.

He doesn’t understand because he’s the one doing all the work here. You desperately have to do something to contribute, even if it’s just working your shitty internship despite the fact that your ankles are ridiculously swollen and your back feels like it’s been mangled in a semi truck accident.

Besides, he won’t take any of your money, so you’ve replenished the emergency fund that was stolen from under your bed in the break-in, and then some. You started setting it aside for your dream of renting an art studio, your own little fund that you’re honestly proud of, even though it’s only possible because Joel is taking care of everything else. He also wouldn’t let you store it under the bed, something about insane financial decisions, so you compromised and put it in a lockbox in the closet. Maybe someday you’ll open a savings account like he insists, but today is not that day. 

Still, the thought of being able to set money aside to actually pursue your dreams of being an artist? It’s pretty unbelievable. 

So, you’re antsy at your desk, shifting your hips to try and get something close to comfortable. When you hear the front door open, you’re half expecting to see Joel. Lately, he’s been swinging by on his lunch break to check on you in person, like the paranoid freak he is. 

Today though, when you look up at the sound, your breath catches in your throat. Your mother is standing in the doorway, nervously clutching her purse as she approaches the front desk.

“Hi,” she greets you stiffly.

“Hi,” you say back, eyes wide. You hadn’t expected to see her…ever again.

“Do you have some time?” she asks.

You hesitate. On one hand, you’re mostly content without her. You don’t need her coming into the tentative peace you’ve built with yourself and screwing it up. You have a family, a boyfriend with an amazing kid, and a baby on the way.

On the other hand, she’s your mom.

“I’m about to take lunch,” you reply warily.

“Let me treat you,” she offers with an unsure smile on her face.

You really, really shouldn’t. This is just going to open up a big can of worms that you don’t want spilling. And Joel had specifically said he doesn’t want you around them if he’s not there. 

But… well, he’s not the boss of you. Not right now, at least. 

“Okay,” you agree after a moment of deliberation. She smiles, relief evident on her expression, as if she’d been worried you would say no. 

She drives, bringing the two of you to a nearby cafe. It’s bustling at lunch time, and there’s an awkward fifteen minutes while you wait for a table outside in the brisk afternoon air. You make small talk; she asks about the baby, and you tell her everything’s fine. You don’t mention the high blood pressure. It doesn’t feel like it’s her place to know.

“I stopped by your apartment last week,” she says once the two of you are seated at a small table on the patio. It takes some adjusting to get comfortable with your unwieldy middle, and you end up sort of half-leaned against the back with one leg stretched out to the side.

“Oh,” you nod thoughtfully, “I don’t live there anymore.”

“As I learned.” Her voice is thin. “The new tenant, Rafael, was confused when I asked where my daughter was.”

You hum a small noise of acknowledgement and take a sip of your lemonade. 

“I take it you’re living with him then?” she asks with an accusatory note in her words.

“Joel, you mean,” you say, “the father of my child. Yes.”

“He moved you in? With his daughter?”

“Why are you asking that like it’s something bad?”

“I’m not,” she’s quick to insist, “I’m…that’s great. It must be getting serious then.”

“Well, we are having a baby together.” 

You don’t know why, but you don’t want to tell her that you’re in love with Joel. It feels too personal, like it’s more than she deserves to know.

“When are you due?” Her eyes travel down to gawk at your swollen stomach. “Or…when were you due?”

“Next week,” you reply in a brittle voice.

She sighs, shoulders lowering gently with the sound. She twirls the straw through her Diet Coke, averting her eyes. “I’m…not doing well, am I?”

“What are you trying to do?” you wonder, watching her squirm a little under your gaze. It’s more satisfying than it should be; seeing how uncomfortable she gets when you don’t respond in kind to her condescending attitude.

“I’m trying to…fix things,” she admits. “You’re our daughter. We don’t want to lose you. Or our grandchild.”

“You haven’t called,” you remind her, “you won’t let the kids see me.”

“I know.” Now, her voice is a touch more defensive. “He knocked dad’s teeth out, you know. He fired him.”

“Joel.”

“Yes. Joel .”

“Dad tried to hit him first.”

She rolls her eyes, leaning back in her chair. “I’m not saying your father is perfect, I’m just trying to explain why we’ve been distant. It’s been hard for us. We relied on that job. Your siblings are struggling.”

Your chest feels tight at her words, guilt spiraling through you in hungry tendrils. You struggle to imagine how your parents have managed to scrape by the past few months, taking care of so many kids without a real paycheck. It’s not like your mom’s ever worked a day in her life. And your father had worked for Joel for years; he’s older now and his resume is somewhat limited.

“I’m sorry about that,” is all you can think to say. 

“Thank you,” she replies primly. Her eyes fall, and her voice gets lower. “You don’t know what we’ve been going through. Your father is…it’s bad, honey. He’s not working and he’s not getting to have his Thursday nights out and it’s just been…” she glances up at you, tears glistening in her eyes, “it’s been really hard .”

You clear your throat uncomfortably. This isn’t the first time your mother has come to you seeking emotional support, not by a long shot. But it is the first time it’s for something that’s your fault. 

“Is there…anything I can do to help?” you ask weakly. It’s a question that you know the moment you voice, you’re going to regret asking.

She considers this, wiping at her wet eyes and sniffing. “I’m not sure. I…don’t imagine you could talk Joel into giving dad his job back?”

“Probably not.” You grimace. Over my dead fuckin’ body is more likely what Joel would say to the notion of doing your father any favors, but you figure she doesn’t need the colorful vernacular. 

Your mother nods, expression limp. She glances at you through her eyelashes, and your heart clenches a little, looking at her. She looks so defeated, so utterly… lost.

It’s hard to see her like this, knowing that in the wrong circumstances, you could be where she is. She didn’t have the same opportunities you did. She was thrust into marriage with an unfaithful man, younger than you are now. She bore his children, cleaned his house, and never really dealt with  her own internal issues. 

Now, she’s in a loveless marriage, struggling to take care of her kids because her oldest screwed her over.

She’s just a woman, like you. Scared, feeling alone, uncertain about what the tumultuous future will hold. 

You certainly know what that feels like.

“I…have a little money set aside,” you begin, voice wavering. “I’ve been able to save so much lately. Maybe I could…loan you some? To help with the kids.”

At this, she perks up, surprised. “Really? You’d do that?”

“Yeah, I mean, would it help? It’s not much but it-“

“Don’t you need it?” She interjects. 

You bite back the admission that you’ve been setting it aside to try and get a studio. You’re afraid of what she might say about it. 

“It’s just some savings,” you tell her, “you need it more than I do.”

She looks at her hands, clasped on the table. It’s clear from her face that she’s deliberating, deciding if the shame of borrowing money from her estranged child is worth paying her bills this month.

“Don’t tell dad,” you suggest, “just say you sold my stuff from the attic. He never goes up there anyway.”

“He won’t like it,” she says thoughtfully, “he won’t let me get a part time job. Says it’s his responsibility.”

“What options do you have?” 

Jesus, how did this turn into you trying to convince her to take your money? 

“Are you sure?” she asks again.

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

“Thank you.” Your mother sits up a little straighter and dabs at her eyes again. “Your siblings will be so relieved.”

“How are they?” 

“They miss you,” she admits. 

“I miss them too.”

“Well, maybe, now that I know we can pay the mortgage this month, you can come by. Bring the baby. They’ll want to meet it.”

Yeah, not happening. You can’t even imagine what Joel would say if you brought up the idea of taking the baby around your father. You don’t exactly love it either.

“Maybe,” you nod agreeably. It’s not worth the fight today. She’s being pretty pleasant. 

“Do you have it with you?” she asks once you’re both finished eating and waiting for the check. She offers to get it, but you put down your card before she can.

“It’s back at our place.” You shake your head. “I can get it after work. It’s all in cash.”

“Perfect.” She nods. “Today?”

“Yeah, sure.”

It’s gonna be tough trying to get the money in and out without Joel knowing and predictably arguing against it, but if she needs it now, she’ll get it now.

The drive back to your office is a little awkward again. There isn’t much small talk, just the quiet thrum of the radio and the breeze from the open windows. 

Then, you see a familiar old pick up truck parked beside your car out front. You curse quietly, digging through your bag to realize you left your cell phone on the desk. You’d told your coworkers you were going to lunch, but obviously not with who. 

He’s here, he must have stopped by to check on you. He’d probably called. He’d probably shown up when you didn’t call and saw your car and desk empty. 

“Shit,” you mutter, unbuckling your seatbelt. It’s not as comfortable as the additional ones Joel installed for you in your car to accommodate your belly, but it sufficed for the short drive. 

“What?” Your mom turns to look just as the front door swings open, and Joel marches out.

You see his eyes land on the car before you can think of what to say. He freezes, going very still as his eyes process the sight of you in the passenger seat, beside your mom. 

Then, the door is being yanked open and he’s pulling you to your feet, still cautious and careful, but urgent. 

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes into your hair, “you’re okay.”

“Of course I’m okay.” You pull back and cup his cheeks in your hands, studying his frantic face. 

“Where were you? You don’t have your phone, no one knew where you were, I thought somethin’ had-“

“I’m sorry, I surprised her,” your mother says from the other side of the car, getting his attention. His eyes go dark, brows furrowing, lips drawing down with anger. 

“What’s goin’ on?” He demands. 

“We were just having lunch,” you assure him, “I’m okay.”

Joel doesn’t pull his eyes off your mother until he exhales sharply and looks back down at you. His voice is quieter when he replies, “you scared me, baby.”

“I’m sorry, everything’s fine,” you lean in to kiss the bridge of his nose. “I forgot my phone. I’m sorry, that was dumb.”

“No,” he shakes his head, “s’okay…” his eyes dart up to look at your mom again before he meets your gaze, “what…”

“Tell you later,” you murmur.

“Are you alright ?”

“Totally fine, I promise.”

“Well.” Your mom shifts awkwardly on her feet. “I should get going. Should I swing by later for…that thing? Or do you want to come to me?”

“Excuse me?” Joel asks, looking at her over your head.

“I’ll come by,” you tell her.

“Okay. See you later.” 

With that, she’s quick to get in the car and escape from Joel’s dagger-esque eyes. 

“You ain’t goin’ there,” he says sternly. 

“Joel-”

“Not with him, not alone.”

Your eyes close, and you breathe in a slow, intentional breath. “I understand. I’m not planning on seeing him. I just need to drop something off for my mom. It’ll be two seconds.”

“Look, I can’t control what you do, or where you go. And I don’t wanna. But…” Joel falters, running his teeth over his full lower lip. “Will you just wait for me? I’ll go with you. Just in case.”

“He’s not gonna hurt me, babe.”

“He already did,” Joel reminds you.

“I fell into an end table Joel, it’s not exactly-”

“What are you bringin’ her anyway?” he interjects, eyes narrowed. “All this time, and she ain’t even called you. Now she shows up for lunch? What did she want ?”

“I have to get back to work,” you point out, “can we talk about this later?”

“You’re about to be on maternity leave, I’m sure they can cut you some slack,” he replies. “Talk to me, baby. You got me kinda nervous here.”

“She just wanted to talk,” you would probably be more convincing if your voice wasn’t so defensive. “She…they’re going through a lot right now. Since my dad lost his job. Since you fired him.”

Joel’s eyebrows knit together, and he studies you for a moment, before something like understanding crosses his face. “Tell me you ain’t givin’ her your money ?”

You cross your arms over your chest, which unfortunately, is enough of an answer to a man who knows you as well as he does.

“Oh, come on honey. She ignores you for months, and then all of a sudden she shows up when she needs money. Tell me you ain’t this naive?”

At that, your teeth grit together. You can see him realize he crossed a line, when his expression smooths out and he shifts on his feet.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“I have to get back to work.” You don’t give him the opportunity to finish, instead, turning on your heel and heading back inside. 

You pretend you can’t feel his eyes on you the whole walk in.

Joel is wrong, and you know that.

Even as you struggle to crack into the stupid lockbox, grateful Sarah’s at soccer practice and not a witness to your pathetic attempt to remember the damn code, you just know he’s wrong. She didn’t just show up to ask for money. She’s your mother. It’s…it has to be more than that.

He’s wrong, and you’ll go to your parents house to prove it. 

Amidst your frustrating attempts to get the box open, you have to stop twice to breathe through braxton hicks contractions. You’ve been getting them on and off all day, radiating throughout your body and hammering against your lower back. They’re starting to get on your nerves, if you’re being honest.

Finally, you manage to get the box open and collect the cash. You debate whether or not you want to give her all of it, but you figure it’s the least you can do considering you got your dad fired. All of this is your fault. You’re just gonna make it right, and move on.

The drive to your parents is familiar, a little longer than it would be to your old apartment. They live outside the city, more rural. It gives you time to think, although you have to pull over once on the way to grit your teeth against a particularly bad practice contraction. 

You’re feeling an odd sort of hope. Maybe this isn’t all ruined. Maybe, if you fix things this way, your family will…want you back. You don’t need them, you have everything you need. 

But you’d be lying if you said you didn’t yearn for them to be who you always wanted. Who Joel always says you deserve. If you can have your baby, Joel and Sarah, and your family, isn’t that what’s best?

You park outside the house, ignoring the buzzing phone in your center console. You know Joel is gonna be getting home soon, and he’s expecting you to be there. He won’t like that you came here alone at all, but especially this close to your due date. It’s a long drive away from the hospital, even if your family weren’t problematic to say the least.

As you close the driver side door, you’re seized again by another braxton hicks contraction. You hiss out a string of curses, bending over while you grip the door. Your eyes squeeze shut. The pain is like a vice gripping your insides, condescending them into something angrily tight and miserable. Normally, they stop after a little while, but apparently today your body has decided to torture you with consistency.

It takes a good minute or so, but eventually you’re able to straighten out as the pain recedes. You exhale, clearing your throat and righting yourself as you begin the walk to the front door. The cash feels heavy in your pocket.

You barely have time to knock before the door swings open and your father is standing there, wide eyed and disbelieving. Wordlessly, he opens his arms and pulls you against him. You flinch, involuntarily, but he’s just hugging you.

It’s weird. This isn’t something the two of you have ever done much of. It’s especially weird with your distended stomach between the two of you. It makes you uncomfortable; you know Joel wouldn’t like the idea of the baby this close to him. Or you, for that matter.

“You’re here,” your father breathes, relief evident in his voice. “I can’t believe you’re here, kid.”

“H-hey Dad,” you reply unsurely, face smushed against his chest.

“We missed ya somethin’ fierce,” he says.

You find that odd, considering he hadn’t called, but you decide not to point it out. He’s actually being nice and it’s a fucking great change of pace. It looks like he got his teeth fixed, which is good. Hopefully a nice pair of caps will put him in a better mood to see you than if he was walking around with raw gums.

“Wow,” he observes as he pulls you apart and looks down at your belly. “You’re…really pregnant.”

“Um, yeah,” you say.

“Your mother was never this big.”

You inhale through your nose. “Is she here?”

“Your mother?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah, I’ll holler for her. Come in, come in.” He opens the door wider than strictly necessary and ushers you in behind him. You shut the door, smiling as you see a few of your siblings look up from the couch.

Sasha barrels toward you, alongside Nancy and Rebecca, who crowd your legs with tight hugs. You laugh, trying to decipher what each girl is saying as they ask you rapid fire questions.

“When’s the baby coming?”

“Where have you been ?”

“Did your boyfriend say sorry for punching daddy?”

You ignore that last one, politely telling your siblings that the baby is due next week, and yes, of course you will let them meet her. No, you aren’t sure if it’s a her but you think so. 

“Why don’t you come over anymore?” Sasha asks you, eyes wide and inquisitive in a childlike fashion.

You look down at her sweet little face, guilt wracking your insides. You’ve been such a horrible, selfish big sister, haven’t you? Leaving them all here to fend for themselves with your parents in such a state.

You vaguely notice your dad rounding the corner to the kitchen as the kids quiet down and their chatter softens to a low hum. You start to move in the direction of the kitchen, figuring your mom is in there.

Only to pause when you hear your father’s voice, quietly asking, “...here with the money?”

“She said she’d bring it,” your mother replies, “it’s not like we can survive on this forever though, so we need to figure something out.”

“Eh, she’s got that rich asshole taking care of her,” your father growls, “it’s the fuckin’ least she can do.”

Suddenly, the wad of cash weighs a million pounds in your pocket. Your heartbeat quickens, sweat dampening your hairline. A contraction seizes your middle, and you gasp, bending over and clutching your arms around yourself.

The pain radiates through your body even as your eyes clench shut against the feeling. You’re overwhelmed by it this time, agony ripping through your stomach and you can’t help the noise of pain that curls from your clenched teeth. 

Betrayal stings in your chest, sharp and pointed, almost as painful as the contraction. You’re an idiot, of course. They don’t forgive you, they don’t miss you. Your mother isn’t some weeping woman, trapped by her own decisions. Or maybe she is, but she’s calculating too, colder than you’d thought possible.

Her visit to you at lunch wasn’t for reconnection, it was for reparations.

Joel was right, and you’re a goddamn moron. 

“Sweetheart!” Your mother is at your side then, her hand pressing flat on your back, and you’re too consumed by the pain to tell her to get off. “Are you having a contraction?”

Mercifully, the pain recedes, and you suck in a desperate breath, straightening out to see all of your siblings staring at you, wide-eyed. You’re frozen there for a moment, completely at a loss, completely humiliated and ashamed. Everything hurts- your heart, your body, your pride. 

You just want Joel.

“I shouldn’t have come,” you manage, weakly leaning against the wall as you struggle to regain your breath.

“What?” Your mom looks at you worriedly while your dad hovers, seeming unsure of what to do with himself.

“This was a mistake, I-I have to go.” You shove off the wall and start for the door, stopped by your mother’s hand on your arm.

“Honey, wait, can we… oh. ” She pauses abruptly, looking down between your legs as you feel a peculiar sensation. It’s a deep-rooted, uncomfortable sort of pop feeling. Liquid soaks your thighs, and for a beat, you’re terrified you just peed your pants.

Then, something horrible settles into your bones. 

“Your water just broke,” your mother says.

“No,” you argue immediately, “I still have another week.”

She grimaces. “Your water just broke.”

As if on a timer, your belly twists up with another contraction and your fists clench, a low groan curling from your chest. You faintly hear your father shuffling the kids out of the room as your mom reaches over to wrap an arm around your back.

“Don’t… touch me ,” you gasp through the pain.

“Just relax,” she murmurs, “you’ve got time. My first labor was hours, almost two days.”

Jesus Christ, she can’t possibly think that’s a helpful thing to say.

“Don’t worry,” your mom soothes, “we’re here. We’ve got you. We’re gonna help you through this.”

You pat your thighs, cursing as you realize you left your cell in the car. 

“Call Joel,” you plead with your mom, still trying to catch your breath. 

She sighs, glancing up as your father enters the room again. “What’s going on?” 

“She’s in labor.”

“Did she bring the money?”

“Bob!”

“Jesus I was just askin’.”

“Please,” you gasp, “call Joel.”

“Alright sweetie, come have a seat.” Your mom guides you toward the couch, and you’re too overcome to argue with her. You allow her to lower you to the cushion, and you drop your head between your shoulders, breathing deeply. Your pants are soaked, and it’s uncomfortable. Everything hurts. All you want is to be with Joel.

“I have to go,” you manage, “I have to go.”

“You can’t drive like this sweetie,” your mom tuts.

“Then drive me, please.”

“You don’t need to go to the hospital until they’re five minutes apart,” she assures you.

“To Joel .”

Your mother makes a soft noise of discontent, and looks over at your father, who sighs and shrugs. 

“It’s been so long since we saw you,” your mom replies hesitantly, “can’t we just take some time?”

“I don’t have time,” you exclaim. 

“Nonsense,” she shakes her head, “let us talk to you first, and then we’ll call him.”

“Talk about what?” you growl. “How you only came to see me because you wanted money?”

She bristles. “I wouldn’t put it that way.”

“I didn’t ask how you’d put it.”

“We just think,” your father steps in, “that since it’s all ‘cause of you that I lost my job and whatfor, that you oughta help us out a little. We know he’s got money. We just need you to help us cover the bills until I can find somethin’ else. That’s more than fuckin’ fair after what you did.”

You look down at your swollen belly with disbelief. There’s a kick, pointed and sharp at your right side. She must be begging: let's get the hell out of here mom.

It’s so ridiculous, but all you can think in that moment, is that you would never, ever treat your child this way.

Even though her timing is less than ideal.

“Well?” your mom asks expectantly. “What do you say? You can help us out for a few months, right?”

Looking at their faces, the hopeful but frustrated expressions, you can tell that you aren’t going to get out of here without giving them some sort of answer. 

It’s all you have in you not to burst into tears right there. You almost can’t believe it. You’re in labor on their fucking couch, and they’re asking you for money. Asking you to pay their bills when you’re about to bring their grandchild into the world. It’s so demented, so selfish and twisted, that it almost absolves you of the guilt you’ve been feeling.

Almost. You know, in a way, they’re right. This is all your fault. They wouldn’t be struggling if you hadn’t gotten involved with Joel and caused this whole mess.

Miserable isn’t a strong enough word for what you’re feeling right now. You’re so angry at yourself for coming here, for putting your baby in this situation. You feel lost, terrified and in pain. Completely overwhelmed.

Joel is going to be pissed.

Joel’s gonna fuckin’ lose his mind, he really thinks so.

He ain’t stupid enough to think you’re gonna listen to him and not give your shitty mother money, but he apparently is stupid enough to trust that you wouldn’t go see your dad without him there.

He’ll have a very real discussion about that with you once you get home. 

The lockbox is empty when he gets home from picking up Sarah and goes into the closet. Of course, you’d emptied your savings to give to that fuckin’ wench. Your dream of a studio, finally something you’d been tangibly trying to achieve, gone after one lunch with that woman. He oughta fuck some sense into you tonight.

Carefully, of course. He don’t wanna send you into labor. 

He tries calling, but it goes to voicemail, so he figures you’re still pissed at him about the naive thing. He don’t feel good about it, he shouldn’t have insulted you. He hadn’t meant it that way- it was anger at your parents. You’re so good, so selfless, always trying to give to others even when they do nothing but take.

If your father really cared, he’d man up and take a shitty job to try and cover the bills. He wouldn’t have attacked the father of his grandchild in the first place. He ain’t some helpless buffoon who needs his pregnant daughter to come rescue him.

And that mother of yours. Well, he ain’t one to go on and insult a lady, but she’s a fuckin’ cunt.

Joel busies himself preparing dinner, your favorite enchiladas, knowing you’re gonna be starving when you get home and likely won’t take care of yourself while you’re out. You’ve been better about it, especially as you get into the later trimesters, but he still finds himself checking on what you’ve eaten to make sure it’s enough to sustain you and your growing baby. 

He calls again, still no answer. 

Sarah asks where you are as the two of them eat, and he hesitantly tells her you’re at your parents house. She watches him carefully when he says that, knowing only bits and pieces of how poorly your parents have treated you.

“Is she okay?” she asks around a bite of enchilada.

Joel hesitates, glancing at the clock above the oven. He’d been expecting you home earlier, if you were just dropping off money. He wonders if you’re trying to punish him by ignoring him, by staying at their place for so long, knowing he don’t want you or the baby around those people. 

“She’s got…a complicated family,” he replies carefully to Sarah. “She’ll be okay. We’ll take care of her, hm?”

Sarah nods, smiling. “I love having her around, Daddy. Don’t screw it up, okay?”

“Whoa!” He laughs with disbelief. “Why would I screw it up?”

“Cause sometimes you’re grouchy and people don’t like you,” she points out.

He rolls his eyes. “She likes me grouchy.”

“That’s why she’s so special.” Sarah snorts and takes another bite. 

Joel smiles in spite of himself. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Sarah does the dishes while he tries calling you again, chewing on his fingernail. The sun’s just started to set behind the hills, and he’s starting to go from my pregnant girlfriend is at her douchey dad’s house levels of anxiety to my pregnant girlfriend is taking way too long at her douchey dad’s house and somethin’ might be wrong anxiety.

He gets your voicemail again, and decides that is the last straw. 

“Sarah!” He calls, stopping in the doorway while she washes a glass pan. “I’m droppin’ you off at Uncle Tommy’s.”

“Why?” Sarah dries her hands quickly on a dish towel, clearly hearing the urgency in his words.

He tells her that he’s going to pick you up from your parent’s house, trying to make it sound nonchalant and casual, as if you’re too tired to drive, rather than he’s coming to forcibly remove you from whatever shitty situation they’ve probably put you in.

Sarah seems unconvinced and worried, but he kisses the top of her head and promises her everything’s okay. She seems somewhat mollified by that. He tries not to sugarcoat shit with her too much, so she trusts him.

The drive is made in silence, knuckles so tight on the steering wheel that his fingers feel numb by the time he finally reaches your dad’s house. It’s dark out now, his headlights fanning in to see your car, still parked in the driveway. It settles his nerves only slightly, knowing you’re still here for some reason.

Joel gets out of the truck, walking with determination toward the front porch. He stops only when he’s at the first step, glancing up at the house as doubt clouds his mind. 

What if you’re still here because it’s going well? What if you’re in there, finally bein’ treated right by these people? What if you’re happy? What if he barges in and absolutely fuckin’ ruins it all?

He’s already done so much damage. Wrecked your life in so many ways- got you pregnant, destroyed your relationship with your parents and siblings, forced you to make changes in so many ways he doubts you’d even recognize your old self anymore. 

He’d thought these things made you happy, from what you’ve told him and the way you’ve been smiling. But what if he’s wrong? What if what you really want is this ? To be here with them again? What if they’ve really changed, and all he does is completely fuck you over by marching inside guns blazing?

Joel takes a hesitant step away from the porch, conflicted in every possible way.

Then, he hears a loud, distinguishable noise of pain, and his blood runs cold. 

It’s you. You’re inside there, and for whatever reason, you’ve just cried out in pain.

Someone hurt you. Someone’s hurting you.

His mind goes blank, body moving without permission. His boots take the steps two at a time, and he kicks the toe up against the side of the doorknob. It comes loose, popping off, and he slams the door open so hard that he hears drywall crack. 

The sight before him is unsettling, to say the absolute fuckin’ least.

You’re on the couch in the living room, fingers clenching the arm rest as your head falls down between your shoulders, a groaning sound of pain melting from your slack lips. Your mother is sitting beside you on the couch, rubbing your arm, murmuring soothing nothings, while your dad paces beside you, scrubbing his chin thoughtfully.

Everyone looks up when Joel bursts in, but his eyes are only on you.

“ Joel,” you sob his name, red-faced and teary eyed like he’s rescuing you from an evil dragon.

“What the fuck is goin’ on here?” he growls, starting toward you.

Your dad steps closer. “Get the hell outta my house!”

“Stop!” you cry, struggling to your feet. Joel lurches forward to help you, but your mom clings to your arm and tries to pull you back to the couch.

“Hold on!” she insists. “She’s still got plenty of time, Joel. We need to discuss-”

“Discuss- she’s- are you in labor? ” He looks at you with wide eyes.

You nod weakly, arms wrapped around your distended belly as if you’re trying to shield the baby from everything going on around you. 

Realization crashes down on his shoulders. You’ve been stuck here, having contractions, in labor, without him, all this time. 

He looks at your mom, gripping your arm in tight fingers, and your father, standing in front of you like an armed guard.

“My phone is in the car,” you weep, shoulders trembling, face wet with sweat and tears.

Joel’s teeth grind together so hard it hurts, a sheen of red shielding his vision. You’ve been stuck here, at their mercy, unable to call him. Whatever they want from you, they ain’t letting you go until they get it.

“We’re leavin’, c’mon honey.” Joel moves forward and takes your other arm, helping you up from the couch. 

You lean against him, exhaling shakily and wiggling your other arm, though your mom still clings. 

“Let go,” you beg her.

“You’re seriously not going to help us?” your mother demands, tugging on your arm like a dog with a toy. “After everything? You can’t even promise us that?”

“I told you, I don’t have the money for that,” you insist, “I-I would if I could, but-”

“ He’s got it!” Your mom waves a hand at Joel, who is three seconds away from grabbing her skinny little wrist and bending it backwards until he hears a snap .

Joel is in disbelief. “You people can’t be fuckin’ serious. Your daughter is in labor, and you had her here, stuck, pestering her to give you money? Do you goddamn hear yourselves?”

“None of this would be happening if it weren’t for you,” your mother spits at him. “We’re not evil. We just need help, and Bob worked for you for years. Did you even consider the damage you’d do, taking advantage of our daughter like this?”

“Oh, I got a very good idea of who here is taking advantage. Let go of her fuckin’ arm before I make you.”

“Don’t touch my wife,” Bob finally steps in, though he’s wary, reluctant to get too close to Joel.

“Nice teeth,” Joel glowers at him.

Bob’s fists clench, but he hesitates in his movement. Clearly last time was enough to put the fear of Joel in him for good.

“Joel,” you plead, “please, can we leave? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Shh, no,” Joel smooths a hand down your back, voice going soft, “ain’t nothin’ to be sorry for. C’mon, I got you now. It’s all okay.” 

He pulls you close, and your mom finally releases your arm with a grunt of displeasure. Joel wraps an arm around your trembling shoulders, the anger in his chest soothing only slightly at the familiar feel of your body pressed against his. He’s comforted, if only a little, just knowing you’re safe in his arms. 

He’s got you to the front door, almost fuckin’ out, when your mom rushes over and tries to touch your arm again. He moves in front of you, barring her from getting a hold, and he sees Bob twitch with desire to intervene, but he doesn’t.

“I said not to fuckin’ touch her,” Joel seethes.

“Honey,” she looks at you, shielded behind his bicep. “Please, you know we love you. We want to be in your life, the baby’s too. We just need some help, your siblings need help, okay? We’re just asking you, for once, to stop being selfish. You’re about to be a mom. It’s time you learn that, okay? Please , just think about it. Just think about it.”

Joel’s never hit a woman before, and if he can help it, he ain’t about to start. 

But, Jesus fuckin’ Christ.

“We’re your parents,” she says desperately.

Joel moves to usher you out the door, not wanting you to dignify that shit with a reply. 

You push back against him, looking over his shoulder to glare at her. “No you aren’t. This isn’t how parents treat their kids. I don’t deserve this. Stay the fuck away from me and my family.”

Joel’s so goddamn proud of you, he thinks his chest might burst. And it probably would, if your bold words weren’t immediately followed up by a gasp and a whining noise of pain.

“Okay, okay,” Joel holds you tightly, glowering at your mother as he helps you stumble across the threshold of the broken front door into the cool night air. 

“Joel…” you gasp once the two of you are alone at his truck, “m’sorry, m’so sorry, you were right, you were right-”

“Baby, shhh s’okay, no sorries. You’re okay, I gotcha.”

“No,” you sob, “I’m not. How could they do that to me?”

“Oh, baby.” Joel’s chest seizes, heart aching for you. “I don’t know. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry honey.”

“I wanna go home,” your words are shaking and fragile, tears on your face, body tight and uncomfortable.

None of this is right; this ain’t the way this was supposed to go. He knows you want calm, relaxing, quiet and peaceful when you bring their baby into the world. Your blood pressure is sky fuckin’ high already, the last thing you need while you’re fuckin in labor is those people making you even more miserable.

“Baby, look at me.” Joel takes your face in his hands, concerned at how warm the skin is, flushed red with exertion. He meets your eyes, thumbs gently brushing liquid from the arc of your cheek. You look frantic, afraid and in pain. It twists his chest to see you this way, knowing he wasn't here to help. 

“I’m here now,” he says firmly, “you’re gonna be alright, I got you. Take a deep breath with me, okay?”

You follow his lead, sucking air in slowly through pursed lips. He watches your chest move, listens to the sound of your exhaling, tries to reassure himself that you’re okay. 

“Did your water break?” he asks. 

You nod, lips drawn down in the saddest little frown he’s ever seen in his life. “Uh-huh. My pants are ruined .”

“Okay, s’okay,” he rubs your arm soothingly, “was anyone timing the contractions?”

“I tried,” you wipe at your eyes with trembling fingers, “but it was hard to k-keep track. I’m sorry .”

“No baby, you got nothin’ to be sorry for,” he assures you softly, opening the passenger door and carefully helping you in. He gets behind the wheel and starts the engine. “Are you…are you okay?”

It’s a stupid fuckin’ question, but he don’t really know how else to ask.

“No,” you sniff, rubbing your hands over the round of your belly. “I’m an idiot. Joel, I’m sorry. You were right, and I just…I just wanted so badly for it to be fixed.” 

“I know you did, honey.” Joel swallows thickly as he tries to keep his eyes on the road and not your flushed face.

“How can they be this way?” you ask, more to yourself, he thinks, than him. “I’m their daughter.”

“They don’t deserve you,” he replies in a harsh voice..

Instead of answering him, you groan, and he looks over to see you clenching the door handle, eyes squeezed shut. It fuckin’ kills him not to be able to do anything, hands stuck on the wheel, glancing at the road while he tries to count the seconds in his head that the love of his life is suffering. 

Finally, like an act of god, your breathing evens out again and you open your eyes, releasing your death grip on the door handle. You look over at him sheepishly.

“Ouch,” is all you offer.

“That was about ten minutes since the last one,” Joel informs you, “45 seconds.”

“Felt like forever,” you mutter.

“I’m sorry baby. We’re almost home, alright? Just keep breathing.”

It’s two more miserable contractions before you finally make it home. He’s reluctant to let you up the stairs, but you insist you need to change out of your ruined pants, and he knows there’s still time before you have to go to the hospital.

“You know what sounds kinda nice?” you ask as he helps you across the threshold of the bedroom, keeping a bracing arm around your waist the entire time.

“What? Anythin’ you want.”

“A bath,” you admit, smiling weakly at him. “Think that tub thing is true?”

Joel smiles back at you, cupping your cheek lovingly. “I think we can find out. Sit, lemme start it.”

He ushers you to the edge of the bed, sitting you delicately there while he runs the water and bubbles for you. He’s watching the faucet to make sure the temperature is okay when he hears you groan again, and he darts back into the bedroom.

Joel presses his knuckles against your lower back, spurred by the relieved note in your moan at the counterpressure. He watches you anxiously, not wanting to talk too much and overwhelm you, but needing to touch you and help in whatever way he can.

When the contraction ends, he brushes hair from your face, thumb roving small movements over your cheek. You look up at him, a faint smile on your lips. Your eyes are dry, cheeks still flushed, breathing still heavy. You’re beautiful even now, glowing and pregnant with his baby, doing the unimaginable work of bringing her into the world.

He’s in awe of you, truly. Reverent and in love as a man can be, looking at a woman. You’re something ethereal, something otherworldly and magnificent. The gratitude he feels is almost suffocating. 

Looking at you here, now, about to give birth to his baby, he can’t help but remember the first time you’d met. 

He’d swept into the kitchen to see you struggling under the weight of a vegetable tray, your family nowhere to be seen, unhelpful and uncaring. He remembers thinking your father should’ve been in there helping you, rather than offloading the task of preparing things for you alone.

A big ask, he now realizes, for a man like Bob.

You’d looked at him with confusion, a bit of awe in your face, as if you weren’t used to people helping you. As if Joel offering to take the load, even for something as unimportant as a vegetable tray, meant something more to you. 

And if he was bein’ honest with himself, looking at you, it meant more to him too.

A woman so complex, so quick-witted, intelligent, so talented and kind, so deeply selfless. A woman who’s never in her life had anyone take care of her the way she deserves. A woman who, at nine months pregnant, still was willing to forgive her terrible parents for the way they’d treated her and offer them her savings for an art studio. 

All he wants is to give you everything you’ve ever dreamed of. Everything he knows you deserve.

“Hey,” he says gruffly, eyes still locked with yours, “I’m sorry. About earlier.”

“No, you were right.” You shake your head. “I was an idiot.”

“Stop.” Joel sits beside you, one hand on your side. “I shouldn’t have called you naive. You’re kind. You’re selfless. Baby, you’re the most wonderful woman I ever met. I understand why you wanted to trust them. Why you wanted to try to fix it. I know it’s hard without your family.”

You nod half-heartedly at him, eyelashes fluttering against your cheeks. “You make it easy, Joel. I- I know none of this was planned, and it’s kinda fucking messy. But, I want this. All of this. I want you, the baby, and Sarah. I want this life. With or without them in it.”

“I do too, baby.” He leans down to press a kiss against your fingers. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” You grimace. “Is the bath ready?”

Somehow, you convince him to get in with you. Joel ain’t a bath person, but for the woman he loves, presently in labor with his baby, there’s not much he’d say no to.

He lowers himself in first, then reaches over to help you in, his thighs spread around your back as you carefully maneuver your body between his. They redid this bathroom years ago, when Sarah was little and liked to take baths in his big tub. He’s grateful for it now, the space so you can be comfortable.

Your head falls back against his chest, damp hair splayed out. He runs his fingers through it, massaging your scalp gently. His other hand wraps around you to rest on your belly, protruding out of the water. He cups the weight there, feeling the rolling movements of the baby. 

It’s quiet, content. When the next contraction comes, he holds your hand, lets you grip him so hard that bone presses into flesh. He kisses your hair, he whispers that he loves you, that you’re okay, that he’ll take care of you. 

The sound of your pain is something unforgivable; a slight he’s put into the world; something he can’t take back. It’s so unfair, knowing you’re in misery to give them a baby. He can’t stand the helplessness of watching you suffer and not being able to intervene. 

Joel is a fixer. He takes broken things, like porches, and works on them. He takes a woman who doesn't love herself enough to give herself what she wants, and tries to teach her what she deserves. He takes himself, lonely and devoted to his daughter in a way that neglected himself, and lets himself love a woman who brought life back into him.

There’s no fix here, nothing he can do or say to make the pain subside. All he can do is hold you, give you what you ask for, embrace your pain as his own and do everything in his power to let you know you’re safe. 

Another contraction, and he counts in his head while you groan and clench your little fingers around his thick ones. He kisses your damp temple, whispers into your ear that you’re incredible, that you’re strong. 

“Joel,” you whine at the tail end of it, tensed up in his arms, breathing heavily.

“I’m here baby, what do you need?”

“Promise me that we’re never gonna be like them,” your voice is pleading, like he’s doing you some sort of favor. “Promise me that she’ll never feel like I do.” You cup your belly, a safeguard around your baby. “I just need to know that I’m not going to hurt her.”

“Never, ever.” Joel holds you tighter, burying his face in your neck, kissing lightly there. “This baby is so fuckin’ lucky to get you as her mama. You’re gonna be amazing, best mom ever.”

“How do you know?” 

“Cause I know you , baby girl.” He kisses your cheek this time, lips lingering on the soft skin there as he hears your breath intake sharply. Your body seizes up, and you clutch at him, letting out a keening moan of pain. 

“Breathe, breathe,” Joel murmurs softly, “you’re doin’ so good. S’okay, I got you. Got you both. Good job, mama. Doin’ so good.”

“This hurts,” you gasp.

“I know, m’sorry baby. Listen, it’s only been a few minutes since the last one. That was a good minute. I think it’s time we head off.”

You turn to look at him, wide eyed. “Like to the hospital?”

Joel nods. “Like to the hospital.”

You’re shaking your head, still breathing heavily from the contraction. “I-we can’t.”

He arches an eyebrow. “You got other plans?”

“I’m not ready,” you say frantically, “I’m not ready, she’s not due until next week. This isn’t…I’m not-”

“Hey, shh.” He smooths a hand down your hair, trying to settle you. “I know this is scary, but I promise you it’s okay. She’s fully cooked, don’t worry about none of that. I’m gonna take care of you. Both of you. I’m right here.”

“I’m not strong enough,” you insist, “I can’t do this. What if I let her down before she’s even born?”

“You couldn't.” His chest tightens at your self-deprecating fears, your self doubt. He vows that he will never, ever let your baby feel this way. She’s gonna be just as independent and self assured as her big sister. 

“You are everything ,” Joel assures you, “all you gotta do is breathe, and push, alright? Let me take care of the rest.”

“Easy for you to say,” you grumble, “you’re not- ahg!”

He holds you through the next contraction, fierce and powerful this time. You curse, breathing raggedly as he braces your body against his chest. He feels every muscle under your skin tighten and tense, and he does his best to soothe them with gentle movements. 

“T-the hospital bag is by the door,” you gasp.

“Alright. Hold tight, baby. Let me get some clothes on and I’ll come help you.”

“Don’t wanna be naked in the delivery room?” you manage a weak smile in his direction.

“I’d rather not catch a charge today, if we can help it,” he chuckles.

It’s a process, getting your things together and helping you out of the tub with the contractions getting as close as they are. He doesn’t remember it happening this suddenly with Sarah’s mom, going from ten minutes apart to fuckin’ on top of each other like this. 

Though, he figures, if your baby takes anything after her mama, she’ll be a troublemaker from the start.

He can’t fuckin’ wait.

So, this is love.

You know it, intimately now, with Joel. You know it’s gentle hands, it’s soft lips on flushed skin, it’s warm, devoted words falling on tender ears. You know it in the way Joel’s brown eyes seem to soften around you, warmth and a glisten of something indescribable overcoming him just from taking you in his gaze. You know it like you know the words to an old song; ingrained in your mind for eternity. 

Once you know love, you can’t forget the way it feels.

You’ve never known love like this. Painful, urgent and intense. Love that drives you to the end of your own limits like this, love that pushes you forward, forces you to learn things about yourself that you didn’t think were possible.

You’re strong, you can endure anything, you know now. It comes with a strange sort of power, this love. The knowledge that you’ve done something, created something, far more invaluable than any piece of art you could ever attempt.

So this is love, in the form of a shrill, screaming baby being lifted onto your chest, as you sob and try to get your bearings. 

Those little fingers and toes, the scrunched up face, the soft lines of dark hair over a fragile head. The whispered, “knew it” from her father when the doctor announces it’s a baby girl.

So this is love, the way Joel’s broken beside you, his face glistening with tears, his lips curved into a beaming grin of elation, his laugh, effervescent and light, so unlike his normal gruff chuckle. 

The space between you two is nonexistent, his hand cupped around yours on the baby’s back, so large it covers yours completely. The heat from his body, the circle of his thick arm, the shield he puts instinctively between your baby and the rest of the room, a thoughtless movement of protection that you don’t even think he himself notices.

“Holy shit,” you gasp, looking down at her screaming little face.

“Well said,” Joel agrees shakily.

“She’s real.” The words are barely coherent, wobbly and trembling in your sobbing voice. Your chest aches, not a pain like the one you’ve just been through, but something so full it feels to the point of bursting. You have so much, it seems, you have everything. She came screaming into the world and in that instant where two became one, you suddenly wished for nothing more.

So this is love, finally, having everything you’ve ever wanted.

“You did it, mama,” Joel whispers against your hair, kissing you over and over like he can’t find another way to express whatever he’s feeling. “She’s perfect. She’s perfect.”

“She’s perfect,” you choke, looking down at the baby on your breast, whose cries are quieting, whose expression is smoothing out, who is looking up at you like you have all the answers in the world.

He kisses you again, this time long and steady against your lips. The baby wiggles on your chest, unnamed and clearly unhappy to have the attention off her. She makes a noise of complaint, and you quickly separate, looking back down at her through bleary eyes.

“Oh, I’m sorry baby girl,” you coo softly at her, “we shouldn't have done that, yuck.”

“Speak for yourself,” Joel murmurs, still grinning down at the baby. 

There are things to be done, you know that. The baby has to be tested, cared for properly, as do you. They have to take her off your chest and clean her up, Joel has to cut the cord still connecting the two of you, you have the unpleasant task of delivering the afterbirth.

But all of that seems so far away, somewhere outside this tiny little bubble, where your baby is warm on your chest, and her father is at your side, holding you both like he has no plans to ever let go.

And maybe, all the rest of it can wait, just a tiny bit longer.