Adison’s POV
I take Jake's arm, and we walk into the living room together.
Everyone's waiting—Violet, Zachary, Maria, Tommy, Paige—and the surprise of it all hits me with the force of something I didn't know I needed until this exact moment.
The space has been transformed. Streamers cascade from the ceiling in silver and gold, balloons cluster in corners like metallic clouds, and there's a cake on the dining table that's covered in smooth white fondant, hiding secrets I'm not allowed to know yet.
A photographer moves along the perimeter with professional discretion, and there's a videographer tracking our entrance with expensive equipment. Within minutes I forget they exist.
I'm just here. Present. Surrounded by people who chose to show up for me.
"Surprise." Violet's voice carries equal parts pride and vulnerability, like she's offering me something precious and hoping I won't break it. "Are you surprised?"
"Completely." The word comes out rough with emotion I'm not ready to process. "This is—thank you."
Jake's hand finds mine, squeezes once, and the gesture steadies me enough that I can breathe normally again.
Violet claps her hands together, commanding attention like she was born for this. "Okay, everyone sit. We have contests. Multiple contests. With prizes and everything."
"Contests?" I look at Jake, who shrugs with the helpless expression of someone who's been kept deliberately in the dark.
"First one." Violet pulls out her phone, projecting something onto the wall with equipment I didn't notice before. "Everyone used an AI generator to create what they think your five-year-old will look like. We're voting on the most accurate."
The first image appears, and I actually laugh out loud.
Tommy's creation looks disturbingly like a tiny cowboy senator—all serious expression and impossible bone structure, wearing what appears to be a miniature Stetson.
"That's nightmare fuel," Jake says, and Tommy throws a couch pillow at him.
"That's genetic accuracy," Tommy counters. "Your kid's going to be running Montana by age six."
"God help us all," I mutter.
Zachary's version comes next, and it's too polished. Too serious. A child who looks like they're already preparing for law school and corporate presentations.
"I may have overthought it," Zachary admits, and there's something self-aware in his voice that makes me like him even more than I already do.
Jake's attempt produces a child with his jawline and my eyes but inexplicably blonde hair, and we both stare at it in confusion.
"Where did the blonde come from?" I ask, genuinely baffled.
"Recessive genes?" Jake offers weakly. "I have no idea. Technology failed me."
Then Paige reveals hers, and the room goes quiet.
It's a little girl with Jake's warm brown eyes and my bone structure, wearing an expression of pure mischief that somehow captures both of us perfectly. She looks real. She looks like someone I could love before she's even born.
"That's her." Jake's voice carries absolute certainty. "That's our daughter."
"We have a winner." I'm trying not to cry and failing spectacularly. "Paige, that's—that's perfect."
Violet makes a sound that's half laugh, half competitive frustration. "If I weren't hosting, I'd have won myself."
She shows us her version, and it's eerily close to Paige's but with more of Jake's coloring, and I find myself staring at two possible futures that both feel equally real.
"You would have," I tell her honestly. "But Paige got there first."
The second contest requires everyone to predict the baby's first word and defend their choice, and the arguments that follow are exactly the kind of chaotic joy I didn't know I was missing.
"Horse," Tommy announces with the conviction of someone who's already planning riding lessons. "Guaranteed. Kid's going to be born and raised around the ranch. The first word's going to be horse."
"Babies aren't that complicated," Maria counters, her tone carrying the authority of someone who's raised actual children. "It'll be 'Mama.' It's always Mama."
"Or 'Dada,'" Jake adds hopefully.
"Statistically improbable," Zachary says, and everyone turns to look at him. "What? I looked it up. Most first words are simple repetitive sounds. Mama, Dada, or something adjacent."
"You researched this?" I can't help smiling.
"I research everything." He says it like it's obvious, like preparation is his default setting.
Then Violet announces the final event, and something in her voice shifts—becomes ceremonial in a way that makes the room fall silent.
"Auction." She's holding a sealed envelope I recognize from the hospital. "For a copy of the ultrasound image that reveals the gender. Winner gets to cut the revelation cake. The money becomes the first contribution to the baby's trust fund."
The words hit me sideways.
Not because of the auction. Not because of the cake. Because she's thinking ahead—planning for a future that includes my child having security and resources and a foundation I never thought to build myself.
"Violet." I stand up before I can stop myself, crossing to where she's standing. "Will you be the godmother?"
Her eyes go bright with tears, and she nods once, sharp and certain. "Yes. Of course. Always yes."
We hug, and the embrace is fierce and quick and loaded with everything we can't say in front of everyone else.
The auction starts, and the bids climb higher than they should—fifty, seventy-five, a hundred. These people are bidding with their hearts as much as their wallets, and I'm overwhelmed by the generosity of it.
Then Zachary speaks.
"Five hundred."
The room goes silent.
"Sold," Violet manages, voice slightly strangled. "To the man with deep pockets and questionable budgeting skills."
Everyone laughs, but I watch the way Zachary looks at Violet when she hands him the envelope. The way she looks back.
Then he does something that makes my breath catch.
"Violet." His voice carries across the space. "Help me cut the cake?"
The request hangs in the air like an invitation to something neither of them has admitted wanting.
And every single person in the room notices.
Violet's face flushes, and she nods, and they move together toward the dining table where the cake waits with its hidden truth.
Jake's hand finds mine again, squeezes twice, and I lean into him because this moment is too big to hold alone.
We're about to find out if we're having a son or a daughter. We're watching Zachary and Violet navigate something complicated in front of everyone. We're building a family out of people who weren't supposed to fit together but somehow do.
"Ready?" Violet asks, looking at me instead of the cake.
I nod, because I am. Ready for whatever comes next.