thank you for loving her.
they didn’t speak much. not after the soft click of the bedroom door closing behind them. not after emily handed jj a pair of pajamas—her own, a simple cotton tank top and drawstring pants that hung loose on jj’s frame but looked better on her than they ever had on emily. she moved on autopilot, quietly clearing the bed of things that had become natural to her. aria’s soft pacifier, a rubber-tipped board book with one chewed corner. she set them on the nightstand without a word, her fingers brushing over the familiar weight of her daughter’s nighttime things before she turned back to jj, who stood barefoot by the side of the bed, waiting.
when they slid under the covers, it was silent. not in a heavy way. but in the kind of quiet that hangs after a storm has passed—where everything is still settling, where everything is slightly wet with tears of a confession that had begged to come to the surface for months. aching and real. emily leaned over to shut off the lamp, and darkness filled the room, save for the soft glow from the baby monitor’s screen by her side of the bed. it cast a bluish light, enough that she could see jj’s face, mixed with the moonlight barely brushing across the sheets.
they lay on their sides, facing each other. neither of them moved. there was a beat, long enough that emily wondered if jj would fall asleep before they ever broke the silence. but she didn’t. her eyes were open. just like emily’s. taking each other in. there was something there between them. a pull. not urgent or wild, but steady. quiet. like gravity.
emily reached out first. she brushed a piece of blonde hair from jj’s forehead, her fingers trembling only slightly. her thumb lingered against the soft skin of jj’s cheek. she started rubbing slow, light circles, comforting more for herself than anything. jj leaned into it.
“can i hold you?” emily asked, voice quiet. it was both a request and a confession.
jj nodded. that’s all she had ever wanted.
they moved like they’d done this a hundred times—in some other life, maybe. one where this had never been so complicated, that they hadn’t let fear consume them instead of letting love in immediately. one where they’d always just ended up in the same bed, because of course they would. jj turned over, slow and unhurried, and emily slid closer behind her. her arm found its way around jj’s waist, and jj exhaled—sharp and soft, like she’d been waiting to breathe.
emily pressed flush to jj’s back, her nose just behind jj’s ear. she closed her eyes for a moment, inhaling. her body was warm against emily’s chest, but not in the way that made her sweat or shift restlessly—warm in a way that seeped into her bones and slowed her heart rate, eased the thrum of anxiety she didn’t even know was still running through her. her hand settled at jj’s stomach, gently. jj laced their fingers together there, wordlessly, holding her tighter. emily closed her eyes again, just for a second, because she felt it swell up in her—something vast and terrifying and safe. jj’s body fit against hers like a thought she hadn’t let herself finish until now. like a secret she had finally let out.
so this is what it feels like , she thought. this is what it feels like to hold the person you love.
jj was still awake. her eyes open, adjusting to the dark, her breath soft against her pillow. every place their bodies touched felt electric, even as her mind tried to settle. she had spent so long imagining this, replaying stolen glances, rehearsing what it might feel like to fall asleep in emily’s arms—and now that it was real, it felt almost too much to hold inside her. she could feel emily’s heartbeat, slow and steady, against her spine. could feel the way emily’s chest rose and fell with every exhale against her shoulder blades. she had never felt safer. and yet, her own chest was tight with love. with relief. with that ache that only comes from knowing that someone sees you. really sees you, and holds you anyway.
neither of them said goodnight. the quiet stayed, but this time it didn’t feel like distance. this time, it felt like the kind of silence that meant something had finally, finally begun.
they fell asleep like that, tangled together, breath syncing in the dark. sleep didn’t so much come as it pulled them under, exhaustion from too many days of pretending they both weren’t breaking. jj had fallen first, pressed into the curve of emily’s chest, her hand tucked beneath her cheek. emily followed soon after, her arm draped securely around jj’s waist, her nose buried in the space behind jj’s ear. the scent of her shampoo—vanilla and something like jasmine—lingered, calming her like no deep breath or glass of wine ever could. it wasn’t a restless sleep, but it was deep and fragile. the kind of sleep that only came when your body had been wrung dry of tears and worry and finally given permission to let go, if only for a few hours.
that was why, at 2:47 a.m., when the first soft cry pierced the baby monitor—a thin, pitiful sound, emily was already shifting before her brain even fully caught the noise. a second later, it came louder. a broken, hoarse cry that clawed into emily’s chest. she blinked hard, the monitor glowing blue against her nightstand. aria’s cries came again, fast and sharper now. miserable. emily felt every one of them like a bruise. beside her, jj stirred. not fully awake, not yet, but emily could feel her shifting behind her, a soft inhale pulling her from sleep. emily slipped carefully from the bed, her arm grazing jj’s side as she sat up. she winced as the mattress creaked under her weight, but jj didn’t say anything. she just turned a little, her brow furrowed, eyes cracked open in confusion at the sound.
“it's okay, go back to bed jay,” emily whispered, voice gravelly, sleep still weighing it down. she didn’t wait for a reply—she didn’t need one. she moved down the hallway in muscle memory. her bare feet soundless on the wood, her body heavy but propelled by something deeper than exhaustion. mom-mode . that switch that never really turned off. the nursery door was already cracked, soft lamplight from the hallway cutting a thin line across the carpet. inside, the sound grew louder. aria was crying hard now, that raw, helpless kind of cry—stuffed-up nose, little hiccups between wails, hot tears falling fast down fevered cheeks.
“hey, hey, baby,” emily said gently as she entered the room. her voice cracked with tiredness, but she kept it soft, like she was trying to talk the fever out of her. “i’m here, bug. mommy’s here.”
aria was curled up on her side, fists clenched at her chest, pacifier long abandoned in the corner of the crib. her blanket was tangled around her legs, damp from sweat. her cheeks were red and blotchy, hair stuck to her temples. she looked so small. so helpless. emily felt her chest tighten as she bent to scoop her up, holding her close, skin to skin. aria immediately buried her face in emily’s shoulder, the sobs still coming but quieter now—muffled against the person she needed the most.
“shhh. i know, i know. i’m sorry, baby girl. you’re okay. mommy’s got you.”
emily pressed her cheek to the top of aria’s head, rocking back and forth, even though she was standing still. it was automatic, her body moving in a way that had comforted aria from her earliest weeks, when she was just her big sister, and nothing else. she rubbed circles against her back, whispering nonsense and love in equal measure.
from the hallway, she heard footsteps. she turned as jj appeared in the doorway, backlit by the hall light, her face soft and blurry from sleep, but concerned. her eyes found aria immediately. then emily.
“she okay?” jj whispered, voice thick with sleep and worry.
emily nodded, though she wasn’t sure it was true. “fever’s back ,” she murmured.
jj stepped into the room slowly, her hand brushing lightly across aria’s back as she came close. aria stirred at her touch, lifting her head weakly, eyes barely open. when she saw jj, she whimpered again—but there was no fight left in her. just need. just comfort.
emily looked down at her, then back at jj. “i’m gonna try the washcloth again. it helped last time. if i can cool her down just a little.”
jj nodded. “i’ll get it.”
they moved together then. like clockwork. like they had done this before. because in some strange way—they had. for months, in late-night talks and half-finished confessions. in cheerios packed in ziplocs for a park day and clothes folded quietly while aria napped and jj just came over because ‘she had free time’. they’d been building this rhythm all along. down the hall, jj wet the washcloth with cool water while emily sat in the rocking chair, cradling aria and whispering lullabies into her hair. when jj came back, she knelt beside them, pressing the cloth gently to aria’s neck, her cheeks. aria whimpered, but didn’t resist. she just curled tighter into emily’s chest, one tiny hand gripping the collar of her t-shirt like it was her lifeline.
they stayed like that for a long time, until aria’s breathing began to even out. her muscles softened. her body, less hot and damp, went still. emily’s eyes met jj’s. she had already been thinking it. the quiet thought, curling around the edges of her mind like smoke.
she’ll sleep better with me.
she always did.
after nights of rocking her, of kissing her burning cheeks, of enduring the coughs and the whimpers and the medicine wars, emily knew that aria slept best when she could curl into her chest and know her heartbeat was still there. that her world was right again. but now—jj was in her bed. still fresh from a night full of confessions and truth so heavy it felt like gravity shifted. the weight of love and fear and apology still hung in the air. jj was in her bed, and emily didn’t want to disrupt whatever this new fragile thing between them. but aria came first. she would always, come first.
she hadn’t even said the thought aloud. but jj… she just knew. jj leaned in beside them, her voice so quiet it sounded like something aria might’ve dreamed. she brushed a few strands of dark hair from aria’s flushed forehead, her fingers featherlight, and then traced down her back in soft, soothing circles.
“bring her to bed with us.”
the way she said it, like there wasn’t a single doubt in the world that this wasn’t just emily’s to carry anymore, made something ache so deeply in emily’s chest that it physically hurt. it pulled tears to her eyes before she even realized they were there.
not just you. us.
emily exhaled slowly, her lips pressing to aria’s temple before she nodded. jj didn’t even wait. she stood up first and offered a hand, steady and strong. emily shifted aria in her arms, careful not to wake her, and let jj help them up. the hand that touched the small of her back as they walked through the hall together was grounding, anchoring emily. when they got to the bedroom, jj pulled back the covers without emily asking. emily laid aria down between them gently, careful not to jostle her too much, but aria stirred anyway—just a soft sigh, her head turning instinctively toward emily’s scent. jj leaned down and whispered something unintelligible but sweet, and aria stilled.
they got in on either side of her. jj reached over, tucking the blanket gently beneath aria’s feet, her hand pausing just briefly to squeeze emily’s beneath the sheets. emily shifted closer, pressing her body toward the warmth of both of them. her fingers found jj’s again. and then aria, in her sleep, reached for emily’s wrist and curled her fingers around it like a tether to them both. the room was still. dim. the monitor pulsed quietly, still casting soft light. emily blinked up at the ceiling for a long minute, breathing in the scent of jj’s shampoo and aria’s nighttime baby lotion.
she didn’t feel like the world was falling anymore. for the first time in days, maybe weeks, she felt like everything she needed—everything she wanted—was right here. warm, quiet, alive, and hers.
jj’s eyes had been on aria the whole time. her hand had never left the little small stomach, fingertips tracing soft, absent-minded circles over the fabric of her pajamas as if she could keep her grounded in sleep with just that little bit of contact. her breaths were steady now, still warm with fever, but calm and safe. emily shifted only slightly beside them, but it was enough. jj felt her, there in the dark. watching. listening. waiting, maybe. jj didn’t look at her right away.
“she’s so small,” jj whispered. her voice was thin, like it wasn’t meant for anything louder than the stillness. “and yet everything about her feels… huge.”
her eyes stayed fixed on aria’s cheeks, flushed pink, round and soft, eyelashes like tiny brushes resting against her skin.
“she feels everything. she loves… so easily.”
jj’s voice caught for a second, but she cleared it gently. still watching aria.
“there are nights where i think about her. when i haven’t seen her. when i’ve had a hard day. and i wonder what book she asked you to read. or if she laughed when sergio jumped on the couch. i wonder if she cried when you drop her off at daycare every day, and if she settled after. i think about whether you’re exhausted, and if she’s cuddled up against you by then.”
she finally glanced toward emily, just for a moment.
“i didn’t mean for her to get inside me like this. but she did.”
her eyes dropped back to aria’s face, softer now. her voice a little more uncertain — like she was saying something out loud for the very first time.
“she looks at me sometimes like i’m hers. and i think… maybe i am.”
the silence between them was warm. heavier now. but in a way that settled like a blanket, not a weight. jj’s hand paused over aria’s stomach, her thumb rubbing slow soft lines.
“i don’t know what that means. i just know i’d do anything to keep her safe. to make her laugh. to make sure she knows… every day… how loved she is.”
she looked back up at emily now, eyes shining faintly in the glow from the monitor.
“i don’t think i knew what this would feel like. being close to something so little. she matters to me in a way i don’t have words for yet.”
jj didn’t reach for emily, not yet. she didn’t need to.
“i just know that when she’s hurt, i ache. and when she’s happy, i feel it in my chest.”
emily hadn’t spoken. she didn’t need to. jj’s words had layered themselves carefully into the moment, into the air between them, and rested right where they belonged. jj finally looked down again at aria, who was stirring only slightly — like she knew something good had just been said.
“i don’t know if she feels it,” jj whispered, “but i hope she does.”
emily swallowed. her eyes had never left jj through the entirety of her quiet confession. she had listened without moving, as if even the smallest breath might shift the moment out of place, and she wasn’t willing to lose it. she could still feel jj’s warmth beside her, feel aria curled between them, her soft, fever-warm body serving as the weight that tethered both of them to something real. she always was somehow, tethering them together. jj’s words had cracked something open in her. something tender and raw that emily had been holding in for months. she reached out, almost instinctively, resting her hand lightly on top of jj’s where it still curled protectively around aria’s stomach. her thumb brushed across jj’s knuckles, slow and soft.
“she does,” emily whispered.
jj’s gaze snapped to her, wide in the dark. but emily wasn’t unsure. her voice was steady, calm. certain.
“she feels it,” emily said again. “all of it.”
jj blinked, her mouth parting slightly like she hadn’t expected that answer.
“you know when i pick her up from daycare, she always asks about you?” emily continued, her voice still hushed. “not just when you’ve seen her recently. every day. i ask her about her day, and she asks every time after she asks about my day—‘what jayje do?’ like you’re her daily update. like you’re a part of her world she expects to hear about.”
jj’s breath caught, and emily felt it through her hand.
“she talks about butterflies constantly now. but she calls them ‘flutterflies.’” a small smile tugged at emily’s lips, and she let herself breathe into it. “she tells me about how jayje showed her the flutterflies. she doesn’t even tell me where or when anymore. it’s just something that lives in her now. like it’s part of who she is.”
jj’s eyes glistened, her lashes catching the faint light.
“she’s cried for you,” emily said gently. “more than once. one night after you stayed for dinner—remember, a few weeks ago? you’d left, and she’d just gotten into pajamas, and she started crying. full on tears. i couldn’t figure it out, i thought maybe something hurt. but you know what she said?”
jj shook her head, slowly.
“she kept saying, ‘jayje go bye-bye.’ over and over. like she couldn’t wrap her head around the fact that you’d left. like she expected you to still be here.”
jj let out the softest breath, broken and full. her hand curled tighter under emily’s touch, and she turned it palm up to lace their fingers.
“and another night…” emily blinked, swallowing the emotion in her throat. “she woke up crying. not just whimpering, but crying. i went in, and she was just saying your name. not mine. yours. ‘want jayje. jayje sing.’”
jj closed her eyes, like it hurt to hear. but it didn’t hurt in the bad way. it was overwhelming. it was too much and somehow not enough. it was love, folding in on itself. emily leaned in slightly, her voice lower now.
“she loves you, jj.”
the words weren’t heavy. they weren’t a warning or a challenge or something fragile about to break. they were just true.
“she doesn’t know what it all means yet. she doesn’t know what it is to have more than one person who shows up for her over and over again. but she’s learning. and when she looks at you?”
emily let her eyes wander down to aria, who had settled deeper into the mattress, small hand tucked beneath her cheek.
“she sees someone who’s hers.”
jj’s eyes shimmered. and when she turned her face again toward emily, she didn’t hide it. not this time. not tonight.
“thank you for letting me have the chance to be that,” jj whispered.
emily didn’t respond right away.
she just squeezed her hand and gave her the smallest nod.
“thank you for loving her.”