A week after Clara's birth, the world felt softer. Mornings came wrapped in birdsong, and even the sky seemed to exhale slower, as if pausing to watch the miracle that had entered their lives.
June sat in the sunroom with Clara asleep in her arms, her tiny mouth working silently in dreams. Thomas was sprawled on the floor beside her, sketching a portrait of his god-sister with crayon and serious concentration. He occasionally paused to glance up at the baby, then back at his art, his little brows furrowed.
"She's got your eyes," he muttered.
June smiled sleepily. "Think so?"
He nodded. "Big and curious. Like she's already asking questions about everything."
Just then, Ava entered the room carrying a basket of folded laundry, her cheeks slightly pink. June noticed it—had been noticing it all week. Ava's quiet pauses. Her hand that kept brushing against her belly without thought. The slight, sleepy smile she wore more often lately.
"You okay?" June asked, rocking Clara gently.
Ava nodded, biting her lower lip. "I, um… I actually have something to tell you."
Thomas perked up. "Is it about cookies?"
June chuckled. "What's going on?"
Ava looked at Thomas, then back at June. "Let's talk outside?"
They stepped into the letter garden. The earth smelled of roses and spring rain. Beneath the old oak tree, wind teased through the hanging notes, some faded with time, others newer—like the one Thomas had written to Clara.
"I haven't told Jamie yet," Ava said quietly. "I wanted to tell you first."
June set her hand gently on Ava's arm. "What is it?"
Ava's eyes welled up. "I'm pregnant."
June gasped. "Ava—"
"I wasn't trying," Ava said, almost in disbelief. "I wasn't even sure we could again. But… it happened. I took a test yesterday, then another this morning."
Tears sprang to June's eyes. "Oh, Ava." She pulled her into a tight hug. "You're going to have another baby."
Ava's voice trembled. "I'm terrified. And thrilled. And tired already."
They both laughed softly, clutching each other under the oak.
"Does Jamie know?" June asked again.
"Not yet. I want to tell him tonight. But I had to tell someone first."
"Well," June whispered, "I think this tree should know, too. It's kept all our secrets."
Ava laughed and knelt down, brushing leaves aside. June handed her a small piece of paper.
Ava hesitated, then wrote:
Dear Little One,
You're not here yet, but already I love you. Already you've begun stitching your name into our family's quilt.
You have an older brother who will protect you with silly songs and bedtime stories, and a father who will hold your whole world in his hands.
I hope you find us ready—messy, full of love, and still learning.
All my heart,
Mommy.
They buried the note together, just as Thomas walked over, holding Clara's picture.
"She's done," he said proudly.
June examined it—bold swirls of purple and gold, with a curly-haired baby cradled in a sunbeam. "You're quite the artist, Thomas."
He grinned, then turned to Ava. "Are you okay, mommy ? You look like you're glowing."
Ava knelt and brushed his cheek. "I'm more than okay, sweetheart."
Thomas narrowed his eyes. "You've got a secret, don't you?"
Ava ruffled his hair. "Maybe. But it's a happy one."
He looked thoughtful. "Is it… a puppy?"
Both women burst into laughter.
"No," Ava said, smiling. "But it's just as cuddly, I think."
That evening, after dinner, Ava asked Jamie to join her in the garden. The lanterns above them flickered on with soft golden light, and the scent of peonies lingered in the air.
Jamie tilted his head at her. "You're being mysterious."
"Sit with me," she said, taking his hand.
They sat on the wooden bench beneath the oak. Jamie looked up at the tree, the place where their lives had been tied and untied again and again.
"I always feel her here," he whispered. "Eliza."
"She's a part of everything," Ava said. "And I think she'd be very happy about what I'm about to say."
Jamie turned toward her, curious. "What is it?"
Ava reached into her coat pocket and handed him a small envelope. "This isn't a letter. Not exactly. But it's still news."
He opened it. Inside was a photograph—grainy and gray—and a small strip of paper.
Jamie blinked. "Is this…?"
"It's a sonogram," Ava said softly. "I'm about seven weeks."
Jamie stared at the picture, then at her, then back again. "Are you serious?"
Tears sprang into her eyes. "Very."
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, pressing his forehead to hers. "We're having another baby."
"We are."
He kissed her again, and again, and again. "Thomas is going to lose his mind."
They laughed, the kind of laugh only two people who'd walked through fire together could share—relieved, joyful, sacred.
Later that night, they gathered as a family—June,Hank, Clara sleeping on her mother's shoulder, Thomas curled between Jamie and Ava. The fire crackled, casting soft shadows on the walls.
"I made something," Thomas announced suddenly, jumping up.
He returned with a sheet of paper and held it up like a prize. It was a family tree—drawn with branches, each leaf labeled. At the base were the words: Under the Oak, We Grew.
On the tree were all their names: Ava, Jamie, June ,Hank, Thomas, Clara… and a blank leaf labeled simply: Coming Soon.
"You made this?" Jamie asked, eyes glistening.
"I want us to remember," Thomas said. "This is our tree."
June swallowed hard. "It's perfect."
Ava pulled Thomas close and whispered, "You already love someone you haven't met yet. That's the truest kind of family."
He nodded solemnly. "I know."
And beneath the glow of firelight, with new life sleeping in their arms and another on the way, they sat together—one family, bound not by blood alone, but by something stronger: the letters of love written across time, and the oak tree that bore witness to them all.