Marla’s POV
Hospitals used to terrify me. The smell of bleach, the too-white walls, the slow tick of machines. I used to hate them. But now? They reminded me of the two women who taught me everything about surviving: my mom, and my grandmother.
Ives and I walked the hallway hand-in-hand. Not for show, not for headlines, just us. When we stepped into her room, she looked smaller in the bed than I remembered. But her eyes, God, they still had that spark. The one that said, I see through everything you think you're hiding.
She raised an eyebrow when she saw Ives. “You brought him back, huh?”
I nodded. “He earned it.”
Ives smiled nervously, cleared his throat, and stepped closer to her bedside. “Hi, ma’am.”
She eyed him. “So you’re real now?”
He glanced at me. “More real than I’ve ever been.” Then he did something I didn’t expect. He got down on one knee. Not with a ring, not with theatrics, just a simple, steady voice and eyes locked on hers.
“I came here to ask for your blessing,” he said. “I want to marry your granddaughter. I know I messed things up. I hurt her. I lied. I pretended. But everything I feel for her? That’s never been fake. Not for a second.” She stared at him in silence, and I held my breath.
“I promise I’ll take care of her,” he said. “Not because I feel guilty. Not because I owe her, but because I love her. And I don’t want to spend a single day without her again.” My grandmother’s gaze softened.
“You mess this up again,” she said, “and I’ll come back to haunt you.”
“I believe you,” Ives said instantly.
She smiled faintly, eyes flicking to me. “You’re choosing a complicated one.”
I squeezed her hand. “I know. But he’s mine.”
She passed away later that night. Peacefully, in her sleep. I didn’t scream, I didn’t collapse. I sat by her side and held her hand until the machines stopped beeping. Then I cried, and I let myself feel every inch of the grief. But it wasn’t hollow this time, it wasn’t just pain. It was love, layered over years of memories. Of kitchen laughs and bedtime stories and whispered advice in grocery store aisles.
The funeral came and went in a blur. People, flowers, condolences I barely heard. Ives stayed close the entire time, his hand never leaving mine. But it wasn’t until after the crowd thinned and the sky started to turn that I let myself breathe. We stayed behind.
Just the two of us, in the quiet. I stood by her grave and closed my eyes as the wind picked up around me, the air smelled like rain and lilacs and something unspoken. Then suddenly, the world tilted.
“Marla?” Ives caught my arm just as my knees buckled.
I blinked fast. “I- I think I’m just tired-”
“You’re pale. Sit down,” he said, already pulling out his phone. “You’re not fine. I’m taking you in.”
I was too dizzy to argue.Twenty minutes later, we were in the hospital, again. Only this time, the lights didn’t feel cold. The room didn’t feel empty. A nurse walked in holding a chart and wearing a smile that made me nervous.
“I have news,” she said, eyes on me.
“You’re pregnant.” Time froze. I looked at her, at Ives, then back at her.
“I'm… what?”
She nodded. “Around five weeks.”
I turned to Ives. He was already crying, and he didn’t try to hide it, didn’t wipe it away. He just stepped forward, wrapped his arms around me, and buried his face in my shoulder. Then he dropped his hand to my stomach, gently, like it was sacred.
“Proof,” he whispered. “That this was never fake.” Tears spilled down my cheeks.
He kissed my temple, my jaw, my shoulder. “We’re real. We always were.”
I laughed through the sobs. “Our baby’s going to hear how chaotic we were before we figured it out.”
He grinned. “And how we fought for it.” I nodded, heart thudding with something I hadn’t felt in a long time. This love, it was ours. It always has been. And it always would be.