Chương 7 - The Gathering Storm

By May, the Texas heat began to press down with a heavy, humid intensity, but inside the Wimberley cottage, the atmosphere was filled with a quiet, joyful anticipation.
My due date was fast approaching—early June. The nursery was fully complete: a cozy sanctuary filled with handmade quilts, shelves of classic children's books, and a rocking chair that looked out over the sunlit lawn.
My brother Leo and his fiancé, Maya, had practically moved into the guest house to make sure I wasn't lifting a finger. Friends from my former accounting days, along with local neighbors who had adopted me into their community with fierce southern hospitality, dropped off casseroles, fresh lemonade, and handmade booties almost daily.
I had reclaimed my life, piece by piece, brick by brick.
On a quiet Friday afternoon, while I sat on the porch reading a novel, my phone chimed with a news alert from the Austin American-Statesman.
BREAKING: Marcus Morgan sentenced to 12 years in federal prison for multi-million-dollar wire fraud and corporate embezzlement.
Disgraced real estate developer Marcus Morgan was sentenced this morning in federal district court to twelve years behind bars, with no possibility of parole for at least eight years. His co-conspirator, Amber Sinclair, received a three-year sentence after cooperating with federal prosecutors. Judge Reynolds condemned Morgan’s actions as ‘a staggering breach of fiduciary trust and personal morality.’
I stared at the screen for a long moment.
Twelve years.
By the time Marcus walked out of a federal penitentiary, Emma and Grace would be in middle school. They would have grown up knowing love, stability, safety, and a mother who fought tooth and nail to protect them. They wouldn't remember the betrayal; they would only know the strength it took to rise from the ashes.
There was no burst of triumphant adrenaline this time. Just a profound, quiet sense of closure.
The chapter was closed. The book was moving forward.
Suddenly, a sharp, unfamiliar cramp rippled across my lower abdomen.
I froze, breathing out slowly. Contract?
Ten minutes later, it happened again—stronger, sharper, unmistakable.
May you like
I lowered my book, placed my hand on my stomach, and smiled.
“Well, girls,” I whispered to my belly. “Looks like you decided you don't want to wait until June after all.”