She giggles, the warmth of her breath tickling my cheeks. “Ethan put it up just because of that.”

“What a douche. I so need to get him back.” I slide my hands down her body and cup her ass. “But later. Right now, I want something else.” I grip her ass cheeks and push her closer to me, smiling when her eyelids flutter and her knees start to buckle.

“Later,” she whispers in an unsteady voice. “Right now, I need to give you something.”

I perk up. “Like a present?”

She nods. “But don’t get too excited. It’s nothing I bought or anything.” When her voice gets all off-pitch, she clears her throat. “Just something we—I made.”

Her offish behavior is a little weird, even for her, but I still play along.

“Awe, you made me a present.” I wink at her. “How very sweet of you.”

She laughs nervously, and I kiss her, pressing my hand against the small of her back. She whole-heartedly kisses me back, pushing her chest against me, as if she can’t get enough.

We stay that way for a while but finally have to break apart to come up for air.

I lift up the wine I’m carrying. “How about we pour a glass of this, and then you can show me the present. I bought this to pre-celebrate our ring anniversary.”(

She glances down at the black-stone ring on her finger and then warily stares at the bottle of wine. “How about I show you the present first?”

“Okay…?” I’m having trouble reading her, which is unusual. My confusion only amplifies as she takes my hand, and I notice her fingers are trembling.

Still, I follow her as she guides me out of the kitchen and upstairs to her art studio. The space is equally as messy as the kitchen. Paint supplies, pencils, and canvases are everywhere, and the air smells of fresh paint. The lamp in the corner is on, but the shade is off and on the floor. There are also a few scraps of torn wrapping paper piled about and tape stuck to the hardwood floor.

Before I can say anything, she releases my hand and slowly walks over to the corner of the room where a present shaped an awfully lot like a canvas is propped against the wall.

“Okay, this present comes with warnings,” she says, crossing her arms as she faces me.

I cautiously cross the room toward her. “And what warnings are those?”(

“Well, the first is that Lila was actually behind the present idea, so I’m blaming any cheesiness factor on her. And the pie ordeal. She said I should bake for you as part of the surprise, even though I told her I’d end up burning the pie.” She pauses, rubbing her hand across her face anxiously. “And the second is that I’m not really sure if this”—she waves her hand at the wrapped object—“is a present or not.” She frowns as she stares off into empty space. “I’m still trying to figure it out.”

She’s got me fucking worried, but I attempt to remain calm as I reach her. “Can I open it?”

Her chest rises and falls as she breathes in and out. Then her gaze collides with mine. She doesn’t utter a word, just nods.

I reach out to rip the paper off. “I feel so nervous,” I admit as my fingers brush across the paper.

“I feel like I’m going to throw up,” she mutters quietly.

My heart is hammering in my chest and blood rushes in my eardrums. I’m so freaking worried I seriously expect to find an ‘I’m Divorcing You’ painted on the canvas hidden behind the green and gold paper. But, as I rip the paper off, I discover a canvas painted with a very intriguing map. Well, not necessarily a map, but a row of images that make up a map of our lives together.

“It tells you a story,” she whispers, watching me as I study the painting. “A story that leads to an infinitely and always ending, I hope.”

I feel a shift in the air as my gaze skims across the map. The first image is of her and me standing on opposite sides of the fence when we’re four years old. Then the paint brightens and alters in deeper colors as it creates our first kiss on a swing set when we were fourteen. Then the shades darken to greys, blacks, and charcoals as the scene transforms into us kissing on the bridge in the rain that night that changed our lives forever. After that, the lines sweep up and brighten at the replay of our wedding day in the snow, in our spot on the shore of the lake. I smile at that one, basking in the emotions connected to one of the best memories of my life. Finally, I arrive the end, but as soon as I see it, it doesn’t feel like an end. It feels like a beginning.

My expression falters at the soft colors created with delicacy, as if each stroke of the brush meant something. The picture is of Ella and me in front of our house, but we’re not alone. Standing between us is a little girl with red hair like Ella’s and aqua eyes the same shade as mine.

“I don’t know if it’s going to be a girl,” she says quietly as I stare at the painting in astonishment. “In fact, I was originally going to paint a boy, but when I actually started to paint it, it came out a girl, probably because I keep dreaming it’s going to be a girl.”(

That’s when what she’s telling me really clicks.

I turn my head and look at her with uncertainty. Not because of my own feelings, but because I fear what’s going on with her. She’s been so afraid of being a mother, and I’m not sure if she’s happy, sad, scared, or what.

“This is…” I trail off, clearing my throat. “When did this happen?”(