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Chapter 67 – Damon's POV
"Found"
I wasn't snooping.
At least, that's what I kept telling myself as I opened her nightstand drawer, looking for the charging cable she'd mentioned earlier. She was in the kitchen, humming softly while reheating leftover pasta for dinner.
A normal night.
Quiet. Warm. Familiar.
Until I saw it.
That small, white stick tucked between a sketchpad and a pack of tissues — carelessly hidden, like she'd meant to throw it away but changed her mind at the last second.
And just like that… my world stopped.
Two pink lines.
Positive.
My chest tightened as I picked it up, my fingers frozen around it. It felt like something sacred — like I was holding the weight of an unspoken truth Arya hadn't yet had the courage to share.
Or maybe… she was still trying to figure it out herself.
I closed the drawer slowly, quietly, and stood still in the room for a moment. The walls suddenly felt closer. The air, heavier.
Pregnant.
She was pregnant.
My first instinct was panic.
Not because I didn't want this — but because what if she didn't?
What if she was scared? Conflicted? What if she thought I wasn't ready? What if she thought I'd repeat every mistake I made when she had Liam?
God. The guilt hit me all over again.
I hadn't been there then — not really. I hurt her. I abandoned her when she needed me most. I made her question her worth and strength, and I'd spent the last year trying to undo even half of that damage.
And now… she was carrying my child again.
I exhaled slowly and placed the test back exactly where I found it.
She hadn't told me.
And I wasn't going to pretend I didn't just see the biggest, loudest truth staring me in the face.
No — we were done with silence in this house.
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She was setting two plates on the table when I walked into the kitchen.
"Got the charger?" she asked, smiling over her shoulder.
I didn't answer right away.
She turned to look at me.
Her smile faded.
"Damon?"
I saw her eyes flick to my face. Then to my hands — now empty. Then back to my eyes again. She knew. She knew I knew.
I kept my voice calm. "I wasn't looking for anything."
Her lips parted just slightly. "What… what do you mean?"
I swallowed. "I saw the test, Arya."
Her face went still.
She didn't blink. Didn't breathe. Just stared.
And then, slowly, she looked away, hands trembling as she reached for a fork she didn't need.
I took a step closer. "You could've told me."
"I was going to," she whispered. "Just… not yet."
A long silence stretched between us.
She gripped the edge of the counter, her knuckles white. "I wasn't ready, Damon."
I stepped in front of her, not touching her, but close enough for her to feel the warmth of my presence.
"Are you scared?" I asked softly.
Her eyes glistened. "Terrified."
My heart cracked open.
"Arya," I breathed, "whatever you're thinking, whatever doubts you have… I'm not the man I was before. I swear to you."
Her eyes searched mine.
"I know," she whispered. "I see it. I feel it. But that doesn't erase the past. It doesn't erase what I went through alone with Liam. It doesn't erase how deeply I swore I'd never be in this position again."
I nodded slowly. "I understand."
She blinked. "You do?"
"Yes," I said. "Because I'm scared too."
Her brows drew together, surprised.
I let out a breath. "I'm scared of failing again. Of hurting you. Of repeating the same mistakes. But more than that—" I reached for her hand, taking it gently, "—I'm scared of not being part of this. I'm scared of missing another chance to do it right. To be there from the very beginning."
She looked down at our hands.
I continued, voice low and steady. "I want this, Arya. I want you. I want our family. Whatever it looks like. However messy or uncertain or complicated. I'm in. All the way."
A tear slipped down her cheek.
I reached up and brushed it away with my thumb.
"You don't have to go through this alone again," I whispered.
She exhaled shakily. "I never wanted to be a single mom again, Damon."
"You won't be," I said. "Not this time."
She closed her eyes, leaning into my touch, her body softening like she'd been holding tension for days — weeks — and finally let it go.
And just like that… something changed.
Not in a dramatic, thunderclap kind of way.
But gently. Quietly.
She nodded.
"I'm pregnant," she finally said out loud, her voice barely above a whisper.
And I smiled — not with fear, but with something else.
Peace.
"I know," I said.
Then I pulled her into my arms.
And we stood there for a long time, just holding each other.
Not as two broken people trying to fix the past…
…but as two imperfect souls ready to fight for the future.