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FIVE MONTHS LATER
MID-APRIL 2025

Molly swallowed and steadied herself against the edge of the vanity. She'd hoped the nausea would have subsided a bit more by now than it had. Her hand slid across her abdomen and she looked at herself in the mirror.

You can't even tell, really. It looks like you put on the tiniest bit of weight. Or even that you just had a really big meal.

The positive pregnancy test had been a surprise the previous month. They hadn't actively been trying, but it wasn't like they hadn't planned it. It had been a month since her doctor had confirmed she was six weeks along. Four anxiety-ridden, nausea-filled, secret-laden weeks that she'd hidden this secret, hoping that this time would be different, this time she'd get further. She was exactly as far along as she'd been the last time when she'd miscarried.

She hadn't told Andrew the news yet. It seemed unfair to drop that bomb on him whilst he was busy with the tour, especially since he would probably insist on canceling all the remaining shows to be with her. No, it was better that she had waited. Just in case. They'd both been so heartbroken the last time when things ended. She didn't want to get his hopes up before she was sure.

He came in an hour. She'd tell him then, over dinner. The only shows left were the last four in Dublin, but they'd been rescheduled for two months down the line due to emergency repairs to the venue.  They'd have a couple months to reconnect before he had to get back on stage again.

The nausea subsided and Molly left the bedroom and went to the kitchen, Clementine hot on her heels. The smell of something burning met her nose and she cursed, running over to the stove.

"Shitballs!" she exclaimed, fervently dumping a pot of mashed potatoes into a bowl, avoiding the burnt bits from the bottom. She'd gotten them just in time.

The chicken came out of the oven and she checked the time. Thirty minutes before Andrew arrived. She hastily turned the oven off and gathered utensils and napkins to set the table. She wanted everything to be perfect when she told him. This time had to be better than last. He'd texted her that he had left the gear warehouse where everything was being stored and was on his way back home.

In a flurry of activity, she rushed back upstairs to change into a different outfit - one that didn't have food stains along the front. She heard a notification from her phone signaling the gate opening. After a quick dusting of blush across her cheeks, she hurried back down to the kitchen to greet Andrew when he came in.

When the door opened, Clementine jumped to her feet and ran toward Andrew, wagging her tail happily. Andrew exclaimed and struggled to put his suitcase down in the hallway. His guitar case banged against the coat hooks and brought down several heavy winter coats that hadn't made their way into storage for the summer just yet. They topped down on top of him as he fell to the floor with a loud curse and a burst of laughter.

Molly exclaimed and rushed over to him, pulling Clementine off of him by her collar. "Clemmie, no!" she ordered.

Andrew pushed the coats off of him with some effort and stood, filling the small space with his full height. He took her in, like an oasis in the desert. She helped him hang up the coats again and grabbed his guitar case from him.

"Hey honey," he grinned, leaning forward for a kiss.

She all but melted into a puddle on the floor. He looked slightly exhausted, his beard needed a trim, and he probably should shower, but he was a sight for sore eyes. A jolt of electricity went from the ends of her hair to the tips of her toes as his lips met hers briefly.

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