"We'll discuss it later," Jonah says diplomatically, which is code for 'we'll argue about it for six months and find a compromise that makes no one completely happy.'
That's what we do now—compromise. It's not perfect, but it works.
The room fills with family, with laughter and tears and gentle arguments about who Samuel looks like most. Mrs. Atkins brings in food, Ricky takes approximately seven hundred photos, and through it all, Samuel sleeps peacefully in Jonah's arms.
"Can I?" I ask finally, and Jonah carefully transfers our son to me.
The weight of him is shocking. Not heavy, just... significant. Real. Mine.
"Hi, Samuel," I whisper. "I'm going to mess up sometimes. Probably a lot. But I promise I'll always love you. I'll always try to do better. And I'll always have your other dad to keep me inline."
Samuel makes a little noise, almost like agreement.
"See?" Jonah says. "He already knows."
As the sun sets over the estate, casting golden light through the windows, our families slowly filter out. They'll be back tomorrow, and the next day, and probably every day after that. But for now, it's just us.
Jonah, exhausted but glowing. Me, terrified but determined. And Samuel, perfect and tiny and ours.
"We're a family," Jonah says softly.
"We've been a family for a while now."
"I know. But now it feels official."
I settle next to them on the bed, careful not to jostle either of them. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For not giving up on me. I know I was a lost cause."
"You were never a lost cause. Just a little lost." He leans into me, Samuel safe between us. "We found each other, though."
"A ninety-six percent match," I recall. "Who knew the Bureau could actually get something right?"
"Don’t let them hear you say that. They’ll want more photo opps."
I shrug. "I don't care what anyone thinks anymore. I have everything I need right here."
Samuel starts fussing, and Jonah shifts to nurse him. It's amazing, this thing his body can do, providing everything our son needs.
"I love you," I tell him. "Both of you. More than I knew was possible."
"We love you too," Jonah responds. "Even when you're being an arrogant ass."
"Especially then?"
"No, definitely despite then."
We sit in comfortable silence, watching our son enjoy his first meal with singular determination. He's got Jonah's focus already.
"What do you think he'll be like?" Jonah asks. "When he grows up?"
"Stubborn, definitely. He's got it from both sides. Probably too smart for his own good. Hopefully kind."
"Definitely kind. We'll make sure of that."
"We'll probably mess some things up," I admit. "I'll be too indulgent, you'll be too strict about some things. We'll argue about screen time and sugar and whether he needs to go to church."
