Chapter Text
The first thing Emily thinks when she wakes up is that she doesn’t even remember falling asleep.
She’s on the couch, curled up under a blanket that she had no memory of tugging over herself. She yawns and stretches, wincing at the soreness in her body as she sits up, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands. The unusual quietness of the house finally registers along with her solitude, and she sucks in a breath, primal panic she still wasn’t used to rolling through her gut. She pulls the blanket from over her lap and furrows her brow as a Post-it note flutters to the ground.
She picks it up and smiles when she sees her husband’s handwriting scrawled across it, reassurance pressed into paper along with the ink.
Don’t panic, we’re upstairs in the nursery.
She shakes her head, remembering a time she would have hated being so known by someone, when the thought of being so understood would have sent her running in the other direction. It made her sad to think about it, sad to know a past version of herself wanted what she now had so badly but was so convinced she’d never get it that she’d self-sabotage to make sure she never could. It was easier to think it wasn’t possible, that a family wasn’t on the cards for her, than to open herself up to being hurt.
Then Aaron happened. Sweet, kind, funny Aaron who had really been there all along, went from her boss who didn’t trust her, to her friend, to her best friend and then the man she loved. Her husband. The father of her children. Their journey to what they had now was made on rocky, uncertain ground before they paved it themselves; the foundation they laid for their life together was made of love and trust that she now couldn’t imagine living without.
It was strange to think how much had changed in the three years since she came home from Paris. She’d come back with nothing but her name and a bag full of clothes, but she’d regained her life and then some. She had more than she’d ever thought possible. A home with the man she loved and his son, their son, a life that was achingly normal and extraordinary all at once.
Now, they had their little girl, Isla, too. The final piece of the puzzle, Emily had started to think they’d never get to slot into place. They’d spent months trying for a baby, just long enough that the hope had turned sour on her tongue every time they spoke in maybes and what ifs about expanding their family. It started to feel like it was the universe telling her she already had enough, that hoping for more and wanting more was a step too far.
She found out she was pregnant two days before their wedding. She took the test as a formality more than anything and set it on the counter in the bathroom as she got ready for the day. She did a double-take when she glanced at it and saw two lines staring back at her instead of the one she’d become used to. She’d run out into the bedroom, test in hand, and half-shouted at Aaron that she was pregnant, startling him in a way she knew would have made her laugh in any other circumstance.
Emily still didn’t know to this day how they hid the fact that she was pregnant on their wedding day. She managed to pretend to drink champagne, grateful that their caterer was diligent in keeping her sparkling cider topped up all evening, and her giddy excitement and happiness outweighed the nausea simmering low in her gut. It was the perfect day, and she knew that one day, she’d enjoy pointing to the pictures they had hanging around their home and telling her daughter that she was there too.
Jack was obsessed with his sister to the point where they struggled to get him to go to school in the morning. This morning had been no different; his lower lip pushed out in a pout as Jess picked him up and they promised him they’d bring Isla to pick him up from school.
Isla Hotchner was only one week old, but she’d turned their lives upside down in the best way possible. Emily didn’t remember the last time she was so tired or so happy, and she knew that one day she’d look back on these long, first days and weeks with the kind of rose-tinted nostalgia that came with the passage of time.
She places the note Aaron had left her on the coffee table, and she stands up, keen to see her husband and their little girl. She walks slowly, in part because it was the only way she could walk right now, but also just in case Isla was sleeping. She mutters under her breath when she has to pause when she gets to the top of the stairs, out of breath in a way that makes her wonder how she used to be able to run and aim a gun in heels.
That’s when she hears it, the familiar sound of her husband’s voice, hushed and slightly stilted as he sings to their little girl in the nursery.
“Les petits poissons dans l’eau
Nagent, nagent, nagent, nagent, nagent
Les petits poissons dans l’eau.”
She’s so tired it takes her a moment to realise he’s singing in French. Or, that he’s at least trying to sing in French. Her cheeks ache with the smile that breaks out across her face, tears she still wasn’t used to gathering in her eyes as she blows out a shaky breath, overwhelmed by how much she loves them.
Aaron stops singing the moment she opens the door, his smile a little embarrassed, before he clears his throat and turns his attention back to Isla, who was fast asleep on his chest. He quickly closes a book of French nursery rhymes he’d bought her when she was pregnant and freaking out about not knowing any songs for babies, and he slips it back into the bookshelf next to the love seat he’s sitting on.
“Look whose here, Isla, it’s Mommy,” he looks up at Emily, “Did you enjoy your nap?”
“It was nice. Needed. “Emily hums and walks over, joining them on the love seat. She rests her cheek on Aaron’s shoulder so she’s face-to-face with a sleeping Isla. She yawns as she reaches out and traces her finger over the swirl of dark hair on her daughter’s head, smiling at the cowlick she’d inherited from Aaron, “I don’t even remember falling asleep.”
“We were mid-conversation, and you trailed off,” he says, love and admiration painted across his face, “I looked over, and you were asleep.”
She scrunches her nose up and tilts her head to look up at him, “Sorry, honey.”
“Don’t apologise,” he says, kissing her forehead, “I’m glad you got some rest,” he nods down towards Isla, “Do you want to take her?”
Usually, she’d immediately say yes, her desire to have her little girl in her arms at all times stronger than anything else she’d ever known, but she also loved to see the two of them together. She loved to watch her husband hold Isla with such reverence, such tender care, his hand bigger than her back as he held her against his chest.
“I’m okay,” she says, resting her hand over his on the baby’s back, “I like watching the two of you together,” she smiles up at him, her lips pressed together as she tries to contain some of her happiness, worried she might burst soon from it all, “Were you…singing to her in French?”
He clears his throat, his cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment as she nods, “I know it’s important to you that she knows more than one language, and I know it will really be your thing with her, but I thought it wouldn’t hurt if I helped too.”
She smiles at him, “But you don’t know French,” she says, her smile only getting wider, “You do remember our honeymoon, right? I had to do all the talking to all the waiters and the hotel staff-”
“Well, yes,” he says, winking at her, “But part of that is just because I love hearing you speak French,” he adds, and she raises an eyebrow at him, making him smile as he sighs, “I’ve been trying to learn. I bought a couple of books for beginners, and some tapes that I listen to when I run.”
Every time she thinks she’s as in love with him as she had ever been, as she ever could be, he does something like this, forever finding another part of her heart she hadn’t known was there to take as his own. She feels tears press at the back of her eyes again, and she cups his cheek, dragging him in for a kiss.
“You’re learning French for her?”
He nods, “Well, for both of you.”
She beams at him and kisses him again, “I love you so much,” she pulls back to look at him, “You’re such a good dad. Isla and Jack are lucky to have you.”
He smiles, and links their fingers together on Isla’s back, “They are lucky to have you, too. You’re the best mom in the whole world.”
The praise warms her from the inside out, and she rests her cheek against his shoulder, content to watch their daughter sleep, to listen to her breathing.
“Aaron?” She says, eventually, smiling when he hums in response, “Your pronunciation is terrible.” She jokes, and he laughs, his joy passing from his chest into hers, and he kisses the top of her head.
“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says dryly as Isla wakes up, startled by his laugh, her face screwing up as she starts to cry. “Sorry, princess.”
“It’s okay, though,” she says, sitting up so she can take Isla from him, kissing her little girl’s head as she holds her close, “I can teach you,” she chuckles as Isla starts to root, “She’s hungry.”
Aaron stands up, careful as he extracts himself from around them, “I’ll get you your water and a snack.”
She smiles at him and nods as she adjusts her shirt to start nursing Isla. She looks down at her little girl and whispers, “Papa nous aime tellement, même si son français est terrible.”
“Hey,” he says, raising his eyebrow at her as he steps out of the room, his smile ruining any attempt to sound offended, “Even I can translate what that means.”
She smiles apologetically, “Je t'aime.”
He clears his throat, his thought process almost visible as he mouths the words to himself before he says them outloud, his clumsy pronunciation making it all the sweeter.
“Je vous aime aussi. Vous deux.”
With each clunky syllable, she swears she can feel her heart getting bigger.