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The snow had started falling sometime between goodbyes. By the time Zoey and Mystery stepped out of Mira and Abby’s house, the night was quiet, the world softened by white flakes drifting lazily beneath the streetlights. The sound of this day still echoed faintly in Zoey’s ears - the children’s voices, Mira’s unmistakable laugh, Jinu arguing with Abby over who had lost the last game of cards, Romance excitedly talking about his vacation in Paris, and Baby helping the kids get up to mischief.
Seven years had passed since so much had changed. Five since Zoey and Mystery had said I do.
Mystery adjusted his scarf as they walked to the car, his breath visible in the cold air. He glanced back once, just in time to see Mira at the window, gently rocking one of the twins while Abby tried (unsuccessfully) to put the other back to sleep.
“Four months and they already run the house.” Mystery murmured.
“They come by it honestly.” Zoey smiled, feeling the warmth spreading through her chest.
Inside the car, the heater hummed to life. Zoey rested her head against the window for a moment, watching the snow blur into streaks of light as they pulled away. Christmas had always been complicated for them. Not painful - at least, not always- but layered.
The first Christmas after their wedding had been full of hope. The one thing the couple knew for sure when they got together was that they wanted children. Soon, and as many as they wanted. That quiet, glowing certainty that children would come easily, naturally, because they wanted them so much. Zoey remembered wrapping tiny ornaments she’d bought “just in case,” hiding them in a box labeled later.
Later had came slower than expected.
The second Christmas had been filled with doctor appointments and careful optimism. Tests, charts, reassurances. Everything looked perfect on paper. “There’s no reason it shouldn’t happen”, they’d been told.
By the third Christmas, they were brave enough to try IVF. Zoey still remembered the sterile brightness of the clinic, the way Mystery had held her hand so tightly his knuckles turned white. How they’d whispered plans during the wait: nursery colors, names, futures. And then, quietly, it hadn’t worked. No loss to mourn publicly. No tragedy others could point to. Just absence. That Christmas, Zoey had smiled through dinners and gifts, excused herself early, and cried in the shower so Mystery wouldn’t hear. He had known anyway, because he also cried in secret.
By the fourth Christmas, Zoey couldn’t bring herself to try again. The thought of returning to that place (and to that waiting) left her breathless. Mystery never pushed. Never framed it as something missing. He simply stayed.
By the fifth, they made a decision together. They would stop chasing it. Not forever, just for now. They traveled. They attended classes that led them to take photographs in quiet cities, and learned to cook dishes from countries they visited. They worked as composers together and wrote music for artists who sang their melodies on massive stages. They became the ones who arrived early to help set up and stayed late to clean.
They loved their friends’ children fiercely. Rumi and Jinu’s seven years old son had once announced, very seriously, that Mystery was his “bonus uncle”, because he was always available to play (or get into mischief) along with him. The girls followed close behind, at ages four and two, They loved it when Zoey played house and gave them stylish hairstyles.
Mira and Abby’s twins were the newest addition this Christmas. Zoey had held one earlier that night, the baby’s weight familiar and unfamiliar all at once. She hadn’t cried and that felt like progress. Mystery parked the car outside their building, the engine ticking softly as it cooled. Neither of them moved right away.
“You okay?” He asked gently.
“Yeah. I really am.” Zoey nodded. She meant it.
Upstairs, their apartment was quiet and warm. Zoey slipped off her coat, hanging it carefully, then disappeared into the living room. Mystery followed more slowly, stopping in the hallway when he noticed something placed neatly under the christmas tree: a small box.
Zoey stood beside it, hands clasped together, breathing a little faster than usual.
“Mystery…” She said, voice steady but soft. “Sit down.”
His heart skipped, not with fear, but with a strange, familiar anticipation. He sat. Zoey picked up the box handing it to her husband and then watching him opening it carefully, revealing a folded piece of fabric inside. A tiny baby onesie. Neutral colors, printed with the phrase "Best Gift Ever"
For a moment, the world narrowed to that single object.
“I found out four days ago…” Zoey said quietly. "Actually, I hadn't realized it until one day while shopping, my women's health app notified me that I was late. So I took a test. Actually, I took three, just to be sure." She spoke quickly, then took a deep breath to compose herself. She continued speaking, this time calmly. “I didn’t want to say anything before tonight. I needed to be sure.”
Mystery stared, unmoving.
“You’re-” His voice broke. He swallowed. “You’re pregnant?”
The woman nodded. Silence filled the room. Her husband laughed, a sound halfway between disbelief and relief, and stood so suddenly the chair scraped against the floor. He crossed the room in two steps, hands trembling as he cupped Zoey’s face.
“Zoey…” He whispered. “Zoey.”
She laughed too, tears spilling freely now. “I didn’t plan it. We weren’t trying. We were just… living.”
He pressed his forehead to hers, eyes closed.
“All those years…” He murmured. “All that waiting.”
Zoey nodded. “I was so scared to tell you. What if it went wrong again? What if-”
He cut her off gently. “Hey. No matter what happens… we already won.” He kissed her forehead.
She exhaled, finally allowing herself to lean fully into him. Seven Christmases had carried them here, through hope, disappointment, acceptance, and love that refused to fade. And now, quietly, without forcing or planning, something new had begun.
—-------
Snow fell differently this year. Zoey noticed it as she stood by the living room window, gently rocking back and forth with a warm bundle pressed to her chest while humming a christmas tune. The flakes seemed to be slower, heavier, like the world itself had decided to take its time.
“Okay.” She murmured softly, swaying, when the baby grumbled. “You don’t have to like Christmas music yet. That’s fine. We’ll negotiate later.”
The baby responded with a small, indignant sound, face scrunching in protest before relaxing again. The woman smiled automatically, a reflex she was still getting used to. This new version of herself that moved on instinct rather than fear. Behind her, Mystery was on the floor, surrounded by wrapping paper, trying to assemble a baby bouncer that very clearly required instructions he had already ignored.
“This box lied.” He said seriously. “There are at least six more pieces than shown.”
Zoey laughed under her breath. Last Christmas, she had handed him a onesie and a truth she’d barely dared to believe. This Christmas, the truth was warm and breathing against her collarbone. Their child. So small, yet so real.
The journey there hadn’t suddenly become simple after that night. Zoey had lived the entire pregnancy with cautious joy, letting herself feel happiness only in measured doses. Mystery had learned to read her silences, to ground her without smothering her hope. And then the baby arrived. Mi-sun arrived, painting their lives with colors (mostly pink) and sensations they could never have imagined.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
Mystery looked up. “That’ll be them.”
Zoey adjusted her hold, smoothing the baby’s tiny sleeve before heading to the door. The moment she opened it, warmth rushed in with the cold. Rumi stood there first, smiling wide, one arm already extended.
“Oh...” She breathed, cooing. “Let me see her.”
Zoey handed the baby over without hesitation. Rumi held them like it was second nature, rocking gently, eyes shining.
“Every time I forget how small they start.” Rumi said softly.
Behind her, Jinu balanced gift bags while keeping a careful eye on the kids, now older, louder, arguing quietly over who got to press the elevator button first. "I hope you're not thinking about having another one." He teased his wife.
Mira and Abby followed close behind, the twins each one on one of Abby's arms. The twin girl already reaching eagerly for Zoey’s hair.
“This one bites.” Mira warned flatly. “Just saying.”
Zoey grinned. “Noted.”
Romance and Baby entered carrying bags with bottles of drinks and sweets for the children.
The apartment filled quickly with voices, coats, laughter, the clatter of shoes being kicked aside. Bobby arrived last, arms full, already complaining about traffic and pretending not to tear up when he saw the baby.
“I blinked and suddenly everyone got kids.” He muttered.
They settled into familiar chaos. Dinner simmered. Someone spilled juice and someone else cleaned it up without comment. The bigger kids along with Romance and Baby staged an elaborate performance that made no sense and demanded applause anyway. At one point, Zoey found herself on the couch between Rumi and Mira, the baby asleep against her chest again. Rumi watched them quietly.
“How do you feel?” She asked.
“Amazing.” Zoey smiled.
Mira studied her for a long moment, then nodded once. “Good.”
Later, when the house finally quieted, kids half-asleep on cushions, conversations softened into murmurs, Mystery sat beside Zoey on the couch, their shoulders touching.
“You know…” He said quietly, watching their child breathe “I used to think every Christmas we didn’t have this meant somehow I was failing.”
Zoey rested her head against his shoulder. “Me too.”
“And now?” He asked.
She thought about it. About the years they’d spent building a life even when the picture they imagined refused to appear. About how that life hadn’t disappeared, it had simply changed over the years until it became what it is today.
“Now I think we were just becoming the people who could handle it when it finally came.” She said slowly.
Mystery smiled. Outside, snow continued to fall. Inside, a child slept peacefully, unaware of how many Christmases it had taken for them to exist. And for the first time, Zoey didn’t count the years. She simply held the present.