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I don't get many things right the first time
In fact, I am told that a lot
Now I know all the wrong turns, the stumbles and falls
Brought me here
- The Luckiest by Ben Folds
Rocker balanced a bag of apples in one hand and a carton of oat milk in the other. The canvas grocery tote swung slightly from his wrist as he nudged the refrigerator door open with his elbow. Golden and warm, the late afternoon light spilled into the kitchen, making the space feel like a safe little bubble away from the rest of the world. Their apartment smelled faintly of citrus and fresh basil, leftovers from the pesto Molly had made the night before. The radio played softly in the background, humming along beneath their chatter with something acoustic and easy.
Molly stood across from him, barefoot and still wearing the pretty maxi dress she wore when she wanted to be comfortable. Rocker thought it made her look like a fairytale princess. She unpacked another bag, her movements easy and familiar, the kind of rhythm you only find when you’ve done this dance with someone a hundred times before. Tomatoes rolled across the counter before she caught them in one hand with a dramatic flourish.
"Hey," she said, glancing over her shoulder. "You remember I told you about Liv from college? The one who married that quiet architecture guy, Greg?”
Rocker placed the oat milk in the fridge, then the apples in the wooden bowl on the counter. "Greg. Yeah. The one who made her that insane gingerbread house to propose, right? With the real sugar windows?"
"That's the one." Molly grinned as she rummaged through the side pocket of her tote. "She just had a baby. Like, four days ago."
She pulled out her phone, unlocked it, and held up the screen.
"Look at this little guy."
Rocker walked over and dried his hands on a dish towel. The baby on the screen was pink-faced and sleepy. He was wrapped snugly in a knit blanket that looked handmade. A tuft of dark hair stuck out from beneath a tiny beanie.
"Oh, wow," he said honestly. "That's... actually one of the cutest babies I've ever seen."
"I know, right?" Molly beamed, clearly delighted. "She said he barely cried the first night. She slept for four hours straight, which is apparently a miracle."
"Lucky kid. Lucky parents," Rocker said, leaning on the counter and grabbing his water bottle. He took a sip and watched Molly gently swipe to another photo before locking the screen. "You two still talk a lot?"
"Sometimes. Not as much before, but more now." She set the phone down and began arranging the produce in their little hanging fruit basket. "Since she's been home, first pregnant, then on leave, she's started texting me more. I think she gets bored during the day while Greg’s working. She said that I was one of the few people she could talk to, even after not having contact for some time. It's just like no time has passed at all, you know?"
Rocker smiled softly, imagining Molly as someone’s tether. It fit her; she always had a way of grounding people without even trying. She was certainly grounding him.
"She's been sending me pictures and updates since little Linus was born," Molly went on, her voice light. "She's telling me all the little things, like how the baby sneezed so hard he startled himself, or how Greg got peed on mid-diaper change. Dumb stuff. But cute. It’s just…" She trailed off for a moment, chewing the inside of her cheek.
Then she turned and rested her hip against the counter, her expression thoughtful. "I don't know. Seeing the pictures and talking to her more lately got me thinking. About us."
Rocker tilted his head slightly, attentive. "Yes?"
"We've been together for two years," she said softly. "Living together for one. It’s good. Solid. I’ve been wondering if you ever think about going that route. You know. Us? Someday? Kids, the whole thing?"
She wasn’t pushing; that much was clear. There was no pressure in her voice, just quiet honesty. She was testing the waters, letting him in on where her thoughts had been lately.
For the first time in a long while, Rocker's chest didn't immediately fill with warmth. It filled with fear.
Rocker froze.
The room was warm and golden from the afternoon sun streaming through the kitchen window, yet his skin went cold. It wasn't just a chill; it was the sudden, sinking, marrow-deep cold of memory.
Something twisted hard in his chest, sharp and awful. It was a flicker of pain that bloomed fast and wide. Old memories stirred uninvited: calendars taped to the fridge and Val’s scrawled notes about fertile windows. Pill bottles with homeopathic stuff and labels he never understood. He remembered her frustrated screams when he arrived home nearly a day too late because his SWAT team had worked a complicated case, and they missed the best time window she had calculated. There were ovulation trackers that beeped in the middle of silent evenings. Her tears in the bathroom with the door locked and the faucet running to hide the sound. Him standing outside, helpless. Speechless. Useless.
They stopped touching each other just for the sake of touching. Everything had a purpose. There was the weight of scheduled intimacy, of hope turning into task lists, and of sex becoming mechanical. Pressure. Quiet resentment. His voice sounded too tired; hers sounded too sharp. The laughter drained out of them. Conversations shortened. Until silence wasn't just something that happened; it lived with them.
He blinked hard.
He was still in the kitchen. With Molly.
But his fingers gripped the edge of the counter as if it were the only thing tethering him to the ground. His knuckles turned white. The breath he tried to take didn’t come. His chest just wouldn’t expand.
The air thinned. His pulse beat like a drum in his ears. Fast and out of rhythm. He hated this feeling. He hated how familiar it was. It was as if he were about to be left behind again. Like he was already failing before they had even started.
Molly’s soft, tentative voice broke through. "Donnie?"
He tried to look at her and nod or smile, but his body wouldn't cooperate. His throat tightened. His vision blurred slightly at the edges, like it used to during high-pressure situations, but this was worse. This wasn't adrenaline. This was fear. Real, deep, soul-carving fear.
Not again. Not this. Not with her.
But the thoughts came uninvited and vicious:
What if it happens again?
What if we try and it doesn't work?
What if it breaks us like it broke everything else?
He didn’t want to see Molly cry like that. He didn’t want to become the man standing on the other side of the bathroom door again, heart pounding, feeling useless, tired, and quietly afraid that she didn’t love him anymore. That she blamed him. That he blamed himself.
"Hey, hey, Donovan."
Molly’s voice was steady, but her eyes shimmered with concern. She cradled his face in her hands, her thumbs brushing lightly against the edge of his jaw on one side and his cheekbones on the other. "Breathe with me, okay?"
His heart was still racing, but her warm, steady touch was an anchor. He forced himself to focus on her, not the spiraling thoughts or the dark pull of fear. Her voice. Her hands. The sparkling flecks in her eyes and the tiny scar above her left brow, from when she fell off a scooter in college. She was real. Here. Not Val. Not the past.
She inhaled slowly. "One...two...three..."
He tried to follow. His breath hitched, and then came in shakily. Then out. One more time. Her fingers were gentle, pressing just enough into his skin to keep him present. With her.
The storm inside him softened just a little. The tight band around his ribs loosened. His hands still trembled slightly as he pulled them away from the counter.
"I'm sorry," he rasped. His voice was hoarse and raw. "I didn't mean to freak out."
"Don't be sorry," she said, kissing his forehead, just a brush of lips full of reassurance. "Come sit down with me, yeah?"
He nodded, and they moved to the couch. She didn’t push him to talk. She just sat next to him, thigh against thigh, her hand resting gently on his knee. He took a few more breaths before the words came.
"You already know, when I was married..." he began. Even saying that much felt like digging through old wounds. "And you know, we tried. For years. It just... didn’t happen. Every month, the weight of it grew heavier. She felt like it was her fault. But I felt like it was my fault. The doctors said everything was fine. We didn’t know how to help each other. It broke us."
He paused, his jaw tight and his eyes locked on an invisible point on the floor. "Not overnight. But slowly."
Molly was silent for a moment, breathing with him. Then: "I listen."
Her voice wasn’t pitying. Just steady. Acknowledging.
Finally, he looked at her, vulnerable in a way he rarely allowed himself to be, only with her. "What if it doesn't work this time either?"
His voice cracked at the end.
Molly reached for his hand and laced her fingers with his. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t hesitate.
"Then we'll try something else," she said softly. "There's no one way to become a family, Donnie. If we want kids and can't have them naturally, we'll look into adoption. Fostering. Whatever feels right. Hell, we could coach a softball team or something. And if we don't end up having kids, we'll still have each other. That’s what matters."
His eyes were glassy. Her words found the cracks and slipped through them like light.
He blinked, almost in disbelief. "You'd really be okay with that? Not being pregnant? Not doing it the traditional way?"
Molly gave a soft, sure nod. "Of course. It’s not about how a child enters our lives; it’s about the love we give them once they’re here."
Rocker let out a shaky breath and sat back a little as he looked at her. "You know," he said quietly, "that was never an option before. With Val."
Molly tilted her head, listening.
"She wanted to be pregnant. Her baby. Our baby. But when it didn't happen, she just shut down. Every time I brought up adoption or anything else, it was like I was giving up on her. On us. Like I didn’t want it enough." He rubbed a hand over his jaw. "So I stopped bringing it up. We just kept trying. And breaking."
"I’m not Val," she said gently. "We're not doomed to repeat the old cycle. We get to choose. Together."
He let out a shaky breath, feeling the tightness in his chest loosen even more.
"You really mean that?" he asked.
"I do," she said, brushing her thumb over his knuckles. "We don't have to decide anything today. Maybe it's better to think about it and talk again another day. There’s no pressure. Just don't carry this alone, okay? I’m in this with you. All the way."
For the first time, the terrible weight he hadn’t realized he was still carrying, the fear of history repeating itself, began to lift. Not all the way. But enough to let hope breathe again.
***
Molly was glowing, and there was warmth in her smile as she cradled the tiny baby in her arms. They’d been there less than an hour, yet she already looked like she belonged there. It was as if this were second nature to her. Rocker watched her from the couch as she gently rocked little Linus. Her voice was soft and melodic as she cooed to him.
Liv had welcomed them into her sunny, plant-filled apartment with hugs, muffins, and a casual, "Don’t mind the mess or the spit-up." The smell of coffee lingered in the air, and a sleepy playlist hummed from a Bluetooth speaker in the corner. But Rocker barely noticed any of it. His entire focus was on Molly.
She was radiant in a way that took his breath away. It wasn't because she was particularly dressed up - her hair was pulled back in a braid, and she wore one of those oversized cardigans she loved - but because she looked right. There was a calmness to her movements and a joy that bloomed from somewhere deep and genuine. She wasn't performing or pretending. She wasn’t nervous or unsure. She was just...Molly. The baby, impossibly small in her arms, seemed to know it, too. He settled into her arms like a puzzle piece finding its fit.
Rocker felt something bloom in his chest then. A warm, slow-spreading certainty.
He could see it.
He could see her holding their child. He could envision quiet mornings like this one: her in the kitchen with a baby on her hip and his arms wrapped around her from behind. He could see himself building a crib, changing diapers, and getting up for 2 a.m. feedings just to let her sleep. It wasn’t fear this time. It wasn't pressure, dread, or the quiet throb of failure.
It was want.
He wanted this . With her . Not because they needed it to feel complete. Rather, it felt like the next chapter in the story they were writing together.
Later, in the car, the hum of the tires on the pavement was the only sound for a while. Molly had slipped off her shoes and tucked one foot under her. Her fingers absently ran over the edge of her cardigan. She looked over when he reached for her hand.
"I want to try," he said quietly.
She blinked, unsure at first if she had heard him correctly. "What?"
He smiled softly. "I want to try. Us. A family. Kids."
Molly’s expression softened, and her mouth parted in quiet surprise. "Really?"
"Yeah." He nodded, his eyes on the road. "Today, watching you...I don't know. It just clicked. You’re going to be such a good mom, babe. I want to do that with you. I want to raise someone with you.”
Tears sprang to her eyes, quick and unannounced. "Donnie…"
"I know we said no pressure. And I mean that. No deadlines. We don't have to do anything right away. But I just want you to know where I’m at. I’m ready. I’m not afraid anymore."
She squeezed his hand, overcome with joy. "I'm ready, too. Even if it takes time, gets messy, or looks different than we expect, we’ll figure it out."
He pulled her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles reverently. "Yeah. Together."
In that quiet, golden moment, they both felt it; the future settling in beside them, not as a promise, but as a possibility.
***
Rocker kicked off his boots at the door and dropped his backpack with a tired thud. The shift had been long, and the paperwork was even worse. His shoulders ached, and his back felt like concrete. But all that melted away the second he stepped into their apartment.
The place smelled like chamomile and lavender - Molly’s favorite relaxing tea - and soft music played in the background, one of those mellow indie playlists she loved. The lights were dim and cozy. Home.
Then there was Molly, sitting cross-legged on the couch in one of his hoodies and leggings, her hair tucked behind her ears. She beamed at him as if he were the best part of her day.
He was pretty sure she was his everyday.
"Hey, babe," she said, the corners of her mouth curling in that way that always meant something. "I've got a surprise for you."
He raised an eyebrow and managed a tired grin as he dragged himself toward the couch and flopped down beside her. "Oh? Is it dinner? Please say it’s dinner."
"Better. Surprise first, dinner after." She handed him a small, plain white box, but her hands trembled just enough for him to notice.
Curious, he slowly and cautiously opened the lid, as if whatever was inside might change everything.
And it did.
Inside sat a baby onesie with a print that said: My hero wears a badge and I call him Daddy .
He blinked at it. Once. Twice. His brain struggled to catch up with his eyes.
"Babe?" he asked quietly.
Her eyes sparkled with giddy nervousness. "Maybe you noticed that I've been a little moody lately and haven't felt so good. I thought maybe I was getting a cold. But today, I realized I hadn’t gotten my period in weeks." She shrugged, her voice soft but steady. "At first, I thought it was stress. But then I thought...well, I took a test this morning."
She reached forward and pulled a smaller box from the coffee table. Inside were three pregnancy tests, lined up neatly. Each one showed the same clear result:
Positive.
Rocker stared at them, then at her, and then back again. The room had gone still. Time seemed to slow.
"We just stopped using condoms, what, eight weeks ago?" he whispered.
"I know." Her smile wavered, and her eyes went glassy. "I wasn't expecting it either, but it seems like the first try was a win."
He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t breathe. His chest felt tight, not from panic but from the weight of overwhelming emotion. His throat ached.
It was real. It was really happening.
Relief hit him first. Not because he thought they wouldn’t get there, but because the ghost of his past had haunted him longer than he cared to admit. Years of waiting, hoping, and watching something beautiful fall apart because of something they couldn’t control. All that pain and doubt. It didn’t belong here.
This was different. Molly was different.
She had made room for his fears, and now she was standing here with a small miracle in her belly.
A shaky laugh, half tears and half joy, bubbled out of him. In one fluid motion, he pulled her up from the couch and into his arms, lifting her off the ground as she squealed with laughter. He spun her around like a happy kid on Christmas morning, as if he needed her laughter to breathe.
"You're gonna make me dizzy," she giggled, clinging to his shoulders.
He set her down gently and kissed her - a kiss full of gratitude, wonder, and love. He could hardly contain it.
"You made me the happiest man alive," he whispered against her lips.
"I already knew that," she teased, resting her forehead against his.
But the truth was, she had just cracked him wide open.
They stood in the stillness of their living room, hearts full and eyes bright, and Rocker let it settle deep in his bones: the calm, the rightness, the joy.
He didn’t just believe it would be okay; he knew it.
Because this time, he was the luckiest.