Chapter 76

They stayed like that for a long time, wrapped in the quiet warmth of each other, the hush of the apartment cocooning them from the rest of the world. Beth was curled into Changbin's side, her head resting against the solid line of his shoulder, one hand absentmindedly tracing slow, looping patterns along the inside of his thigh. The living room was dim, all the overhead lights off, just the faint amber glow from the kitchen casting soft pools across the hardwood floor. Outside, the city murmured its usual nocturnal rhythm—distant traffic, a siren far off, the occasional creak of pipes settling in the walls. But here, in this little pocket of stillness, everything felt suspended.

Changbin hadn't moved much since they sat down. He remained folded against her like he was anchoring himself there, as if her presence was the only thing keeping him from floating off. He was warm and steady beside her, and Beth could feel the subtle shift in his breathing—slower now, more even. Safe. Eventually, though, he stirred, just barely. His body shifted enough for his head to tilt, his gaze grazing across her profile.

She felt the weight of it instantly—the question forming behind his eyes before it ever reached his lips.

"Something on your mind?" she murmured, not looking at him yet, but her thumb paused in its slow motion over his leg, sensing the shift in the air between them.

He hesitated, long enough that the silence gained shape. Then, finally, he spoke—his voice low, careful, threaded with something tender. "Would you ever think about... having another one?"

Beth's breath caught, shallow and sharp. Her body stilled, the words landing with the soft weight of something enormous.

She turned her head slowly, brows drawing together. "Another what?"

There was a beat—just long enough for him to look away, as if embarrassed by the question even as he stood behind it. "A baby," he said at last. "I mean—not right now. I just... I've been thinking."

He brought a hand up to rub the back of his neck, a nervous tic she'd come to recognize over time. His fingers curled briefly at the nape before dropping again, his eyes darting to a shadow on the floor rather than meeting hers. "Alex and Chan are about to have one. Mac's got one on the way with Kendra. Every time we're all together, it's like... cribs and names and bassinets and swaddles. And I watch them—especially when they're not even talking to the baby yet, just talking to each other about what kind of parents they want to be—and I think..."

He trailed off, his throat working as he swallowed.

"I look at Cassie," he said finally, softer now, "and I think I could do that. I'd want to. With you."

Beth didn't answer right away. Not because she didn't know how to respond—but because she did. And the knowing of it was so full, so heavy in her chest, that she had to take a moment to make room for it.

She leaned back just enough to see his face more clearly, shifting so she could look at him without breaking the contact between them. One hand stayed pressed gently against his chest, right over his heart, feeling it beat beneath her palm—steady, unwavering. Like him.

"Is this something you've been thinking about for a while?" she asked, her voice quiet but anchored.

Changbin nodded, eyes finally meeting hers. "Yeah. I didn't want to bring it up when everything felt like it was falling apart. I figured... we needed to survive first. But now that things are calmer—not perfect, just... quieter—I can't stop thinking about it. Watching you with Cassie... watching her love you the way she does..." His voice faltered for a second, and then steadied again. "It made me realize I don't want to just be in your life. I want to build more of it. With you. If that's something you'd ever want."

Beth exhaled, slow and uneven, as if she were letting out something that had been trapped for years. Her chest felt tight—not in the painful, suffocating way she used to know, but in the stretching, unfamiliar way of healing. Like scar tissue being asked to soften. Like a heart learning to expand again.

"I haven't thought about it," she said after a long silence. "Not really. After Cassie, I thought... that was it. One and done."

There was no bitterness in her tone. Just honesty. Her gaze dropped to his chest again, watching the slow rise and fall beneath her hand. "It wasn't just Henry," she added. "It was the pregnancy. The birth. The aftermath. I felt like I was clawing my way through it, moment to moment, barely keeping above water. There was no space to dream. No room to plan. Everything felt like a battlefield I had to survive."

She swallowed, blinking slowly. "I didn't think I'd ever feel safe enough to want anything more than what I already had."

Changbin didn't try to fix it.

He didn't jump in with reassurances or clutter the silence with platitudes. He didn't rush to speak, didn't fill the air with apologies she hadn't asked for. Instead, he simply nodded—once, slowly, like an anchor settling into place—and stayed with her in the hush that followed. His presence, quiet and unwavering, gave her the space to continue if she needed to. But just as clearly, he let her know she didn't have to.

Beth's eyes drifted past him, drawn toward the hallway beyond the living room, where the soft golden spill of Cassie's nightlight bled through the cracked door and onto the floor in a wash of dim ocean blue. It looked like a memory—soft, surreal, sacred. The kind of light that made you believe in second chances.

"She saved me," Beth said softly, her voice barely more than a breath. "In more ways than I'll ever be able to name."

Her fingers fidgeted absently against the hem of her sleeve. She wasn't crying, but her voice held the weight of someone remembering a kind of pain that lived just under the skin—never quite gone, never quite dormant.

"For a long time, I didn't think I could ever go through it again," she continued. "I wasn't sure I'd even make it through the first time."

Her words hung between them like a held breath. And then, slowly, she looked up, meeting his eyes.

"But then there was you."

The silence that followed was different now. Not heavy. Not raw. Just... full. Charged with the kind of emotion that didn't need volume to be felt. Changbin swallowed hard, his throat working visibly as he lifted one hand to cradle her cheek. His thumb swept beneath her eye—soft, reverent—like he was memorizing the moment.

"You came in when everything felt impossible," she whispered. "You didn't try to fix me. You didn't pretend you had the answers. You just... stayed. You held space for me. You helped me remember how to breathe again."

They sat with that. With the truth of it. The weight and the wonder. The sheer impossibility of finding someone who didn't flinch from the mess.

After a long pause, he spoke. His voice was gentle, tentative, but rooted in something solid.

"And now?" he asked. "When you think about it now, does it still feel impossible?"

Beth leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment before opening again. The corners of her mouth lifted into the faintest of smiles—not bright or bold, but deeply, quietly sure.

"No," she said. "It feels... complicated. But not impossible."

Her gaze drifted again toward Cassie's door, her voice softening into something almost wistful. "I loved my pregnancy with Cassie. Even with all the chaos, all the fear—I loved feeling her grow inside me. I loved singing to her in the kitchen, feeling her kick when I played music too loud. I loved knowing she was mine before anyone else got to meet her."

She exhaled slowly, like she was tasting the memory on her tongue. "But everything after... it was brutal. I felt so alone. I kept thinking—when Henry started unraveling, when everything got dark—what if she'd been born into something better? What if I had done more? Been more?"

Changbin's hand didn't waver. If anything, his hold on her grew just a little firmer, as if he could tether her with nothing more than warmth.

Beth's fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, grounding herself there. "But now... now she does have more. She has this home. She has love. She has you."

He didn't speak. He just leaned in and pressed a long, steady kiss to the top of her head, his lips lingering there like a vow.

Beth's voice dropped even lower, almost like she was saying it to herself. "And maybe... maybe that's why it doesn't feel so impossible anymore. Because I'm not doing it alone."

She looked up then, fully, and met his eyes with a clarity that felt like a sunrise after a long night. "If I did it again... it would be with you. Only you."

His breath hitched—just slightly—but the smile that broke across his face was immediate. Wide and stunned and wrecked all at once, like he hadn't known how much he needed to hear those words until they were already blooming between them.

"But," Beth added, arching an eyebrow with quiet affection, "let's get a ring on this finger before we start planning for kids."

Changbin laughed—low and breathless—and dipped his forehead to rest against hers. "Okay," he murmured, the word soaked in love. "That's fair."

Beth's hand lifted slowly, almost reverently, as though she were reaching for something sacred. Her fingers traced the strong line of his jaw with a tenderness that bordered on awe, skimming along the faint bristle of his stubble and pausing over the tiny scar near his chin—one she hadn't noticed until a few weeks ago, but now felt impossibly important. Like every mark on his skin had become a part of the language she spoke fluently. This was a face she knew in the dark. A warmth she could find blindfolded. Every detail was beloved. Every inch of him, familiar and deeply, irrevocably hers.

"I'm serious," she said, and this time her voice didn't waver. It had steadied, rooted in the truth of what she meant. "I want to do this right. All of it. If there's going to be another chapter, I want it to be written with intention. Not fear. Not desperation. Just... love. Chosen, steady, real love."

Changbin nodded, the corners of his mouth softening as his gaze held hers with unflinching clarity. "No rushing. No pressure. Just... truth."

"Exactly," she murmured, her chest easing with relief at the shared understanding that passed silently between them.

They slipped into a stillness that felt earned. Not awkward, not uncertain—just full. The kind of silence that stretched comfortably between people who didn't need to fill it. From outside, the muted rhythm of the city drifted in: the soft whir of passing cars, the occasional chime of wind nudging the fire escape, the refrigerator humming to life in the kitchen. But it all felt so far away, like the edges of the world had blurred just enough to make space for this moment, for them.

"I think about it sometimes," Beth said, her voice quiet, almost tentative. "What it would be like. You holding a baby. Us walking Cassie to school with a stroller in tow. You building a bunk bed because she wants to share a room with her sibling even though we've got three bedrooms."

His smile bloomed instantly, wide and radiant, his eyes crinkling in that way that never failed to undo her. "She would," he said, and she could already hear the fond exasperation in his voice, the way he'd say it in real life when Cassie made her newest, most impractical request.

"She absolutely would," Beth agreed, laughter bubbling up from somewhere deep in her chest. "And she'd name the baby something like 'Captain Whalebone Sparklefeet' and insist we keep it."

"I'd put it on the birth certificate," he replied, deadpan, like it wasn't even a question.

Beth buried her face in his shoulder, her laughter spilling out freely now, her whole body shaking with it. "You would not," she choked out, half-giggling, half-groaning.

"Bet," he said, and she could feel the grin in his voice as much as hear it.

When the laughter subsided and the quiet crept back in, she pulled away just enough to look up at him again. Her expression sobered, her eyes searching his face as if the truth might be hiding in the curve of his mouth or the weight of his gaze.

"You really want this?" she asked, her voice hushed but serious. "Not just the idea of it—but the life. The middle-of-the-night feedings. The no-sleep-for-weeks stretch. The toddler tantrums. The fear. The everything?"

There wasn't a flicker of hesitation in his response. "I do. Not because it's easy. But because it's us. Because I want to build a life that's messy and real and ours. And yeah—because I want to see you holding our baby. I want to see Cassie being a big sister. I want to be the dad who shows up. The one who stays."

Something broke open in her chest at those words. A soft, fragile ache blooming behind her sternum. Her eyes burned, sudden and sharp, and she had to blink rapidly to keep the tears from spilling over.

She inhaled slowly, shaky and full of feeling. "You already are," she whispered.

They didn't speak after that—not because there was nothing left to say, but because there was nothing that needed to be said. Instead, they curled into each other, Beth resting her cheek against the solid comfort of his chest, his arm draped around her like it had always been meant to be there. She listened to the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear, each thump grounding her more firmly in the moment. His breathing was slow and even, the rise and fall of it syncing with her own like a shared rhythm, a quiet promise.

After a long while, Beth reached for his hand. Her fingers found his with instinctive ease, and she laced them together slowly, savoring the shape of his palm against hers.

"I want that too," she said at last, her voice so soft it barely crossed the space between them. "Maybe not today. Maybe not even next year. But one day."

Changbin didn't rush to answer. He just squeezed her hand gently, his thumb tracing idle patterns across her knuckles. "That's all I needed to hear."

Beth glanced down at their joined hands. Her skin was slightly paler where her old wedding ring had once rested, the faint tan line a lingering echo of a life she no longer belonged to. Now, his thumb brushed over that spot with such care it made her breath catch. A silent imagining of what might one day take its place.

She smiled, quiet and full. "You're going to make a great dad. Again."

He leaned in, nudging her forehead with his. "You're already a great mom."

She tilted her head, brushing her nose against his. "We make a good team."

"The best," he murmured, and this time, there was no room left for doubt.

Later that night, after Changbin had dozed off on the couch with his arm still loosely curled around her waist, Beth lay awake.

She didn't move—didn't want to. His warmth was like a second blanket, his breath soft against the crown of her head. But her mind was still humming, drifting through old memories and new possibilities like waves brushing against the shore. Not crashing. Not dragging her under. Just... touching.

She thought about the first time she ever felt Cassie kick. She'd been standing barefoot in the kitchen, half-dressed and exhausted, humming along to something on the radio as she poured pancake batter into a hot skillet. And then—there it was. A flutter. A knock from the inside. Like her daughter had reached out through skin and muscle and time to say, I'm here.

Beth had cried, right there in the middle of the kitchen, spatula in hand.

She'd forgotten that until now.

There had been so much pain wrapped around that year. So much isolation. Henry had already begun to unravel by then, growing sharper in all the wrong ways, distant when she needed him close, volatile when she needed calm. The joy had still come—Cassie's first heartbeat, the way she would roll to music, the glow of her skin under the ultrasound—but it had always been accompanied by fear. A question mark hanging over every moment.

What if I'm not enough?

What if this breaks me?

What if I already am broken?

She had survived. But she hadn't thrived. Not until now.

And maybe that's why the idea of doing it again—really doing it, with support, with love, with Changbin—felt less like a risk and more like a door. One she could open if she wanted. One she wasn't afraid to approach.

The next morning, Beth wandered into the penthouse just before noon. Her arm was still tangled in the sleeve of her coat when Alex looked up from the espresso machine, already squinting at her with suspicion.

"You look like you spent the night thinking too hard," Alex said, not unkindly. Her tone was dry, amused. "Are we spiraling or just... emotionally developing?"

Beth let her coat slide off and draped it over the back of a chair. "Somewhere between a full-blown identity crisis and domestic hallucinations."

"Ah," Alex nodded sagely. "So... parenting thoughts."

Beth blinked, startled into a laugh. "How the hell do you always know?"

"I have three brain cells and one of them is permanently attuned to your emotional state," Alex replied, turning back to steam her milk. "Also, you texted me a heart emoji at 1:41 a.m. and I know you don't do that unless your hormones are vibrating."

Beth groaned and leaned her forehead against the countertop. "I hate how seen I feel."

"I love how dramatic you are," Alex said brightly. She slid a mug toward Beth and took the stool next to her. "Spill it. You're safe here. I'll only judge you if you say something stupid like 'Captain Whalebone Sparklefeet is actually a good name.'"

Beth choked on her coffee. "I swear to god, if Changbin goes anywhere near the birth certificate with that—"

"I'll block him personally," Alex deadpanned.

They both laughed, but as the sound faded, Beth found herself going quiet again. Not out of hesitation, exactly—more like reverence.

"I think I might want another baby," she said softly, eyes fixed on the marble countertop.

Alex froze mid-sip.

Beth didn't even see it happen—just heard the violent sputter, the sharp splkht of coffee spraying back into the mug, followed by a stunned cough as Alex wheezed into her sleeve like she'd just been told the moon was pregnant.

"You what?" Alex finally managed, blinking rapidly, one hand flat on the counter as she tried to recover. "You want a what?"

Beth just stared at her, deadpan. "A baby. Another one."

Alex looked genuinely distressed. "Beth, I—Jesus, I need a second. You can't just say that like it's a weather report—"

"You asked," Beth said, raising an eyebrow, though the corner of her mouth twitched.

"I asked for a vibe check. You handed me a grenade."

Alex stood abruptly, pacing in a tiny circle like the news physically unseated her. "You—you hate being pregnant."

"I don't hate being pregnant," Beth corrected calmly, wrapping both hands around her mug. "I hated being pregnant with Henry. There's a difference."

Alex stopped pacing.

Beth looked up, slower this time. Her voice was gentler now, steadier. "You know what I remember most about those first few weeks with Cassie? The ones before everything got hard?"

Alex didn't answer. She just watched.

Beth's eyes were distant, caught somewhere between memory and possibility. "I remember music. I used to dance around the kitchen with her in my belly. She'd kick whenever I played anything too loud. And I remember lying in bed, both hands on my stomach, whispering to her like we already knew each other. Like she was just waiting to arrive."

The room quieted. Even the espresso machine stopped whirring.

"I wasn't alone, not really. But I felt alone. And that changed everything. It colored the whole experience—made me think I could never do it again." She paused, her gaze lifting back to Alex. "But I'm not alone anymore."

Alex didn't speak for a long moment. Then she sank slowly back onto the stool, eyes wide, coffee forgotten.

"You're serious."

Beth nodded once, quiet but certain. "I'm not saying I'm trying to get pregnant tomorrow. Or even next year. But I think... for the first time, the idea doesn't scare me. It doesn't feel like something that would break me."

She hesitated, then added, "It feels like something that could build us."

Alex let out a slow breath, eyes darting briefly toward the ceiling like she was silently negotiating with the universe. "I was prepared for a lot of things when you walked in this morning. A hangover. Existential dread. A new kitten, maybe."

Beth laughed under her breath. "Sorry to disappoint."

"Oh, I'm not disappointed," Alex said, voice warm now. "I'm just—" She waved vaguely. "—shocked. I mean, a baby. That's not nothing."

"I know."

"And with Changbin?"

Beth smiled, small but full. "Yeah. With Changbin."

"So are you going to try now so we can have our babies together?" Alex asked, wiggling her eyebrows with a grin that was far too smug for someone holding a steaming cup of oat milk foam.

Beth blinked, then narrowed her eyes. "Oh, don't tempt me."

"You say that like it's a joke," Alex replied, voice sing-songy and borderline chaotic. "But I swear to God, if we timed it right, we could have matching due dates. Go to prenatal yoga together. Make Chan and Changbin build identical cribs. I'll even let you pick the nursery color if yours turns out cuter."

Beth snorted. "What makes you think I'm even close to ready?"

Alex scoffed, lifting her hand dramatically and pressing it to her abdomen with a theatrical sigh. "Because you're an emotionally intelligent woman in a committed relationship with a man who makes heart eyes at you like you invented oxygen. You're halfway to ovulating just from that confession alone."

Beth arched an eyebrow, one hand resting on her hip as she tilted her head slightly. "Oh, so we're coordinating pregnancies now?"

Alex smirked, her fingers still splayed across her stomach like a melodramatic starlet in a black-and-white film. "Please. We've coordinated chaos for years. Why not a couple of fetuses?"

Beth laughed, shaking her head, but the sound trailed off into a quieter smile as her gaze dropped briefly to Alex's midsection.

"I still can't believe you guys are having one. After everything with Jakarta, I didn't think you guys would move forward with it so quickly." Beth said.

"Well, I'm not getting any younger and it's not like my health now is at one hundred percent."

Beth laughed, shaking her head, but the sound trailed off into a quieter smile as her gaze dropped briefly to Alex's midsection. Her hand softened at her side, the curve of her mouth mellowing into something thoughtful. She didn't say anything at first. Just looked. Not in the way people stared at a bump, but in the way someone might study a home they'd helped build—grateful it was still standing, even if the scaffolding was cracked.

"I was kind of serious," she said after a beat, her voice softer now. "About maybe... trying. Eventually. I mean, not now. Not next month or anything." She looked back up, catching Alex's eye. "But one day. Maybe when everything settles a bit. When I can breathe again without checking over my shoulder. I don't want to be afraid this time."

Alex's face shifted, the joking edge slipping away. She pressed her palm more firmly against her stomach, as if holding it in place. "You shouldn't have to be," she said quietly. "Not again."

Beth nodded, swallowing against the knot in her throat. "That's why I'd want to wait. Make sure Cassie's okay. That I'm okay. That Changbin and I are... rooted, you know? I want to go into it steady. Whole. Not shattered and hoping a baby will put me back together."

Silence settled between them again, but it wasn't heavy. It was tender. Earnest. Like they'd both been allowed to set something fragile down and just breathe beside it.

Alex's lips curved into something almost wistful. "You wanna be pregnant together, huh?"

Beth gave a small shrug, eyes twinkling despite the weight of their conversation. "It's a stupid dream. But yeah. You were there with me the first time. I think it'd be nice to go through it again with someone who gets it. Who won't let me spiral. Someone who'll sneak me cold watermelon at 3 a.m. and not question it."

Alex's smile wobbled. "God. The watermelon."

"You used to keep a stash in your mini fridge," Beth said, grinning at the memory. "I swear, you were more prepared than my OB."

"I took my role as co-pilot very seriously," Alex said, then paused. Her eyes flickered down to her belly again, her fingers lightly tracing the swell of it. "But I don't know if I could do it again, B."

Beth's smile faltered. "I know. I figured."

"This one's already trying to kill me," Alex said, attempting lightness, but the words hung crooked. "High-risk doesn't begin to cover it. My heart rate spikes if I so much as sneeze. The doctors are watching me like I'm a bomb with a faulty timer."

"You're not a bomb," Beth said firmly.

Alex huffed, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. "Tell that to my kidneys."

Beth stepped closer and reached out instinctively, her fingers closing gently around Alex's wrist. "If you can't do it again... it's okay. Really."

Alex looked at her—really looked—and something in her expression cracked. "I wanted to. I want to. For Chan. For myself. But I don't know if I have another one in me."

The honesty in her voice made Beth ache. She didn't try to fix it. She just let their hands stay tangled, anchoring them both in the quiet truth of that moment.

"Then this one," Beth said softly, "gets all the sparkle."

Alex blinked, and for a second, she looked like she might cry. But then she laughed instead, the sound watery but real. "She's gonna be so spoiled."

"She's already got a whole army."

They stood there for a moment—two women who had survived things they didn't always talk about, dreaming gently of futures they might not get, and still loving the ones they had. It wasn't perfect. But it was enough.

Beth glanced down at their joined hands again, her voice a little steadier now. "Whenever I do try... I think I'll be okay. Because this time, I won't be alone."

Alex gave her hand a squeeze. "You never were. But yeah... now you really won't be."