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I’ve been waiting all year for this.

Sleeping in. No homework. No bullies. Just long, warm days and a chance to finally breathe.

But I never thought I’d be spending the first week of summer in a hospital gown, sitting on crunchy paper, waiting for an ultrasound tech to check on the baby growing inside me.

I stared at the white walls, the framed posters of smiling babies, the little diagram of what each week of pregnancy looked like.

It felt surreal.

Like I’d stepped into someone else’s life.

Mom sat beside me in one of the stiff waiting chairs, flipping through a magazine she definitely wasn’t reading. Her knee bounced just a little, the only sign she was just as nervous as I was.

A soft knock on the door made me jump.

“Hey there,” a kind-looking woman in scrubs stepped in, smiling gently. “I’m Jess.

“I’ll be doing your ultrasound today,” the tech said as she wheeled the machine over. Her name tag read Jess, and she had a kind smile. “You’ve had a few of these before, right?”

I nodded. “Yeah… but it still makes me nervous every time.”

Jess smiled gently. “That’s totally normal. Let’s get you comfortable and we’ll take a look.”

I laid back and lifted my shirt, already bracing for the cold jelly. It didn’t surprise me anymore—but the feeling of that wand gliding over my stomach still made my breath catch in my chest.

The screen came to life, a blur of gray and white shapes at first.

Then—

There it was.

Clearer than before.

Still tiny, still fragile, but more… real.

The curve of a head. A little fluttering heartbeat. Tiny limbs just starting to form.

Jess smiled. “There’s your baby. Looks like they’re growing right on track.”

I blinked hard. I didn’t think I’d get emotional this time. I thought I was used to it by now.

But the image on the screen was different today.

I could see more.

And somehow… I felt more.

Mom reached over and squeezed my hand. “You okay?”

I nodded, my throat tight. “Yeah. I just… I can’t believe that’s really inside me.”

Jess gently adjusted the image. “Looks like someone wanted to say hi today. Strong heartbeat. Good movement. You’re doing great, Emily.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Thanks.”

Jess printed a few pictures and handed me the small strip. I held it like it was made of glass.

I’d already seen the baby before. But this time, it felt different.

This time, it wasn’t just a shape on a screen.

This time, it felt like mine.

When I got home, Lily was outside in the yard, surrounded by a scattered army of dolls, plastic animals, and a miniature tea set she was clearly trying to convince her stuffed unicorn to drink from.

Sam was across the yard, casually kicking a soccer ball against the fence, earbuds in, completely in his own world.

I paused at the edge of the driveway, watching them.
A part of me ached.

I wished I could’ve tried out for the girls’ soccer team this year.
I wished I could’ve had a “normal” summer.

I wished a lot of things.

But today… I also felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time: peace.

“Hey, Lily!” I called.

She looked up, her eyes lighting up like always when she saw me. “Emily! You’re back! Did the doctor say the baby’s still swimming around in there?”

I laughed softly and pulled the ultrasound printouts from my bag. “Wanna see?”

Her eyes went wide as she scrambled up and ran over, nearly tripping over a tea cup. “YES!”

I handed her the little strip of images carefully.

She stared at them like they were magic.

“Whoa,” she whispered. “That’s really it?”

“Yep. That little blob right there,” I said, pointing gently, “that’s the head. And this wiggly thing? That’s an arm.”

She gasped. “It has arms already?! It’s like a jelly bean with limbs!”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Pretty much.”

Lily handed the pictures back, her expression suddenly serious. “Do you think it’ll like dinosaurs or unicorns more?”

“Hm. I think it’s too early to tell,” I said with a grin. “But with you as an influence? Probably both.”

She nodded like that was acceptable. “Well, when it gets here, I’m teaching it how to play tea party and stomp like a T-Rex.”

I looked down at the ultrasound again, then at Lily’s bright, fearless little face.

And I smiled.

“I think the baby’s going to be lucky to have you.”

I slipped the ultrasound pictures back into my bag and glanced across the yard.

Sam was still doing the same thing—kicking his soccer ball, earbuds in, eyes half-focused, just zoning out.

I hadn’t really talked to him much since dinner that night when I told everyone about the baby. He hadn’t said anything mean… but he hadn’t said much of anything at all.

Time to change that.

I smirked, creeping across the grass like a stealthy ninja. He didn’t notice me at all. Still had his music blasting and his focus on the ball.

When I got close enough, I lunged—

“BOO!”

Sam jumped about a foot in the air, lost his balance, and the soccer ball ricocheted off the fence and smacked into his leg.

“OW! What the heck, Emily?!”

I doubled over laughing. “Your face! Oh my gosh, you jumped!”

He glared at me, pulling out one of his earbuds. “Seriously? You’re gonna give me a heart attack before I’m fifteen.”

“Consider it payback for ignoring me all week,” I teased, still grinning.

He rolled his eyes, but his mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile.

We stood there in awkward silence for a few seconds. The breeze stirred the grass, and somewhere nearby, Lily was roaring like a dinosaur.

“Hey,” I said softly, nudging the soccer ball with my foot. “You okay?”

Sam shrugged, staring down at the grass. “I guess.”

“You’ve been quiet.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. I just… I didn’t know what to say. It’s a lot, you know?”

“I know.” I looked down too. “It’s a lot for me, too.”

Another pause.

Then Sam said, “I didn’t mean to be a jerk. I’m not mad at you. I just… didn’t know how to act. I’m not good at this kind of stuff.”

I smiled faintly. “Well, for the record? Me neither.”

He finally looked at me. “You really gonna keep it?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I decided.”

He kicked at the dirt a little. “That’s scary. But… kind of brave.”

“Terrifying,” I agreed. “But I’ve got Mom. Lily. And… you, I hope.”

He looked surprised for a second. Then he gave a crooked smile. “Yeah. I mean, someone’s gotta teach that kid how to do a perfect corner kick.”

I laughed. “You volunteering?”

“Guess I am.”

I stepped forward and bumped his shoulder lightly. “Thanks, Sam.”

He nodded. “Just… no more jump scares, okay?”

“No promises,” I smirked.

We stood in the yard for a while longer, kicking the ball gently back and forth. No goals. No competition. Just something quiet and simple between us.

After a long pause, Sam slowed the ball and stopped it under his foot. His expression shifted—more serious than before.

“Can I tell you something weird?” he asked.

I looked up. “Of course.”

He hesitated, staring down at the soccer ball like it might give him the words.

“I think… I think I was kind of jealous when you told everyone you were pregnant.”

That caught me off guard. “Jealous? Of me?”

Sam nodded slowly. “Not because of how it happened. I mean, obviously I hate that part. But… just the idea of it. Having a baby. Being able to make life. I don’t know.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not,” I said gently.

He looked up, eyes a little unsure. “Sometimes I just wish… I could do that. Not in the way like I want to be a mom, exactly. But something about it… it feels important. And weirdly beautiful. And I guess I wish I could be part of that in a way that I can’t.”

I let his words settle for a moment. They were unexpected, but not strange. Just… honest.

Sam continued, softer now, “And sometimes I wonder what it’d be like to be a girl. Not all the time. And not like… wanting to change who I am. But more like… wanting to know what it’s like. To feel the things you feel. To do the things girls get to do without anyone questioning them.”

I stepped closer, letting the weight of his confession sit between us. “That’s not weird, Sam. Wanting to understand something deeply doesn’t make you strange. It makes you human.”

He blinked, looking relieved. “You really think so?”

“I do.” I smiled. “Besides, I think you’d make a pretty good girl. But I like you exactly how you are.”

He laughed, just a little. “You’d still prank me either way.”

“Oh, absolutely,” I grinned. “That part’s not negotiable.”

Sam gave the ball a soft kick, sending it back my way. “Thanks for not making it weird.”

“Thanks for telling me,” I said. “That’s… kind of the most honest thing anyone’s said to me in a long time.”

He nodded, and for a while, we just kicked the ball in silence again. Not because we had nothing to say, but because we finally understood each other a little better.

I wandered over to Lily, who had somehow expanded her tea party into an entire backyard kingdom. There were dolls lined up like royal guests, dinosaurs posed as guards, and a teddy bear who apparently had just been exiled from the kingdom for “eating too many muffins.”

“You ready to be sworn in, Princess Emily?” Lily asked, holding out a sparkly pink tiara that was at least two sizes too small for my head.

I laughed. “Sworn in for what?”

She raised her chin with mock-seriousness. “To be the ruler of the western marshmallow mountains, keeper of the glitter frogs, and future trainer of your royal baby.”

I blinked. “That’s a lot of responsibility.”

She nodded solemnly. “I wouldn’t trust anyone else with it.”

“Well, in that case…” I sat cross-legged beside her on the blanket. “I humbly accept.”

She placed the tiny tiara on my head, and it immediately slid sideways.

“You’ll grow into it,” she said, completely serious.

“Isn’t that what they say about crowns?” I teased.

Lily shrugged and handed me a plastic teacup. “Do you think your baby will like tea parties or sword fights?”

“Both,” I said, without hesitation. “We’re gonna be a very well-rounded household.”

She grinned. “I can teach them how to make mud potions and catch frogs too.”

“That’s perfect,” I said softly, sipping pretend tea. “You’ll be the best aunt ever.”

Lily beamed so brightly it made my heart ache—in the good way.

We played until the sun started to dip and the sky turned that hazy gold that makes everything feel like a dream. For a little while, everything felt… light.

The fear was still there. The worry. The unknown.

But so was this.

Laughter. Imagination. Family.

And that made all the difference.

Just as Mom and I were starting to settle into the quiet moment, her phone buzzed with a message.

She glanced at it and smiled. “By the way… dinner’s almost ready. Hope you’re hungry.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What are we having?”

“Barbequed chicken,” she said, standing up and stretching with a satisfied sigh. “Your dad’s been out by the grill practically all afternoon. I think he’s trying to prove he’s the ‘grill master’ again after Sam beat him at burgers last month.”

I laughed. “Is he still mad about that?”

“Only every time he opens the fridge,” she said, smirking. “I caught him muttering something about ‘perfect grill marks’ earlier like it was a secret mission.”

As we made our way toward the kitchen, the smoky, tangy scent of barbecue wafted through the house, wrapping around me like a warm hug. Outside, I could hear the sizzle of chicken hitting hot grates and Dad humming along to one of his classic rock playlists.

Sam was setting the patio table with a stack of mismatched plates, and Lily was dancing around him in her favorite unicorn apron, holding a bowl of potato salad like it was a prized jewel.

“Don’t drop it,” Sam warned, carefully shifting cups to avoid a disaster.

“I won’t! I’m the salad queen,” Lily declared proudly, placing it on the table like she was serving royalty.

Dad peeked in through the screen door. “I hope everyone’s ready. This chicken is fall-off-the-bone level perfect.”

“I’m always ready for that,” I said, stepping outside into the golden evening air.

And just like that, the heaviness of everything else faded into the background for a while. The yard was filled with the sounds of laughter, plates clinking, and sizzling food. For one summer night, we weren’t thinking about school or the baby or what the future held.

We all gathered around the old wooden picnic table in the backyard, the one with peeling red paint and a little wobble in the middle that Dad kept saying he’d fix "one of these weekends." The air was warm, with a soft breeze carrying the scent of smoky charcoal and sweet barbecue sauce.

Mom brought out a tray of corn on the cob and green beans. Lily bounced in her seat, already reaching for the potato salad.

Sam grabbed a drumstick and took a massive bite like he hadn’t eaten in days. “Okay… this is actually really good.”

Dad puffed out his chest, proud. “Told you. Low and slow. That’s the secret.”

I took a bite of mine and had to admit—it was good. Tender, juicy, just the right amount of smoky flavor. It was the kind of meal that made you want to sit a little longer and talk a little more.

Then… it happened.

Dad picked up another piece of chicken—one with a lot of gristle—and went to town.

Slurp. Chomp. Gnaw.

The sound was immediate and unavoidable.

Crunch… slurrrrp… chew chew chew.

My entire body tensed.

SCHLOP.

I glanced at Sam. He had frozen, his fork hovering over his plate like he was afraid to move.

Lily whispered, “Oh no. It’s the gristle.”

Dad didn’t seem to notice. He was in full caveman mode, sucking every last bit of flavor off the bone like it owed him money.

SCHLICK. SMACK.

“Dad,” I said slowly, setting my fork down. “Please. We are trying to eat.”

He blinked, finally registering the four horrified faces staring at him.

“What?” he said, genuinely confused. “You can’t waste the good stuff!”

“The good stuff?” Sam groaned, pushing his plate an inch away.

“It’s just cartilage,” Lily said, her nose wrinkling. “Why is it so… wet?”

“I think I’ve lost my appetite,” I muttered, poking at my corn.

Mom was covering her mouth with her napkin, definitely trying not to laugh. “Timothy, chew like a human, please.”

Dad grinned unapologetically and held up the bare bone like it was a trophy. “You’ll understand someday. When you have kids and they waste the best parts.”

I side-eyed him. “Pretty sure my kid’s going to prefer applesauce.”

Lily leaned over and whispered, “If I ever get married, I’m making sure my husband eats quietly.”

Sam groaned. “Let’s just agree no one here ever eats gristle again. Deal?”

“Deal,” Lily and I said at the same time.

Dad shrugged, completely unbothered, and reached for another piece of chicken.

Crunch.

I shoved a forkful of green beans in my mouth to block out the sound.

After the plates were cleared and the chicken bones (gristle and all) were finally off the table, we lingered outside, too full and too content to go back in just yet.

The sky had shifted into that golden, glowy haze that made everything feel magical. Like time had decided to slow down just for us.

Mom was curled up in one of the deck chairs, sipping sweet tea and humming softly under her breath. Sam had kicked back on the lawn, arms folded behind his head, eyes closed like he was soaking up every last drop of sunlight. Lily was lying on her stomach in the grass, using a stick to draw hearts and flowers in the dirt.

And me?

I sat at the edge of the picnic table, one hand resting lightly over my stomach, the other holding the ultrasound photo that I’d tucked into my back pocket earlier.

The sky was turning shades of tangerine and cotton candy, with streaks of deep purple bleeding into the edges. The kind of sunset that felt like a painting, or a dream.

I watched the clouds shift and float above us, soft and slow, like they were trying not to disturb the peace down here.

“Pretty,” Lily said quietly, glancing up from her doodles. “Do you think your baby can see the sky yet?”

I smiled, my heart catching on the sweetness of her question. “Not yet. But maybe someday, I’ll show them a sunset just like this.”

Lily nodded like she fully expected that to happen. “Make sure they get ice cream too. Sunsets are better with ice cream.”

“Noted,” I said with a soft laugh.

Mom opened her eyes and looked over at me. “You doing okay, kiddo?”

I met her gaze and nodded. “Yeah. I am.”

She smiled, the kind of mom-smile that says everything without needing words.

The wind rustled the trees gently above us. Somewhere in the distance, a bird chirped its last song of the evening. Fireflies blinked lazily near the edges of the yard, just starting to appear.

And in that moment, with the sunset painting everything gold and the air still warm from the day, I felt it—

Peace.

Not forever.

Not perfect.

But enough for now.

And sometimes, that’s all you need.