I vote for the exertion.

“It’s not what you think, you nympho,” he says as he props pillows behind my back and under my knees before leaning in and brushing a kiss to my lips. And of course, because I can never resist him, I bring my hand up to the back of his neck and hold him there so I can steal one more from him.

“A girl can hope,” I murmur against his lips. When he pulls back, a smile lights up his face and a mischievous glimmer is in his eyes.

“Not until this girl gets clearance from the doctor,” he says. He walks around the edge of the bed and grabs something off his nightstand, holding it behind his back so I can’t see it. And the cutest part about the action is that in the sequence of movements, I’ve watched my confident, demanding husband morph with discomfort so I know whatever is behind his back pushes his comfort zone.

“So I have something for you,” he says and then stops with a shake of his head that’s reminiscent of when one of the boys is embarrassed. It tugs at my heartstrings and gives me an exact picture of what BIRT will look like if he is a boy. He looks down at a crudely wrapped rectangular box in brown paper as he reaches it out to me. I close my hand over his and don’t let go until he looks at me.

“Thank you, but I don’t need anything.”

“I thought it was a good idea at the time . . . but now I feel like it’s lame so you can laugh at me all you—”

“I’m going to love it,” I say with complete conviction, because if this present is making him this unsure then I know he’s the one coloring outside of his already messy lines.

With the weight of his stare, I slowly unwrap the gift to find a picture frame made of thick rustic wood void of a photo in it. I stare at it for a moment because while it is actually quite beautiful, I sense there is a deeper meaning here than just a gift so try to figure out what it is that Colton’s telling me.

“It’s empty,” he states, drawing my eyes up to his while my hands run over the texture of the wood. It’s weathered but refined, rough but smooth, kind of like the two of us. The idea brings a smile to my lips.

“I see that.”

“It’s been a rough couple of weeks for us,” he says as he climbs on the bed beside me. He lies on his side, head propped on his hand as I nod and try to figure how this all fits together. “Kelly is trying to find my dad.” My mind slams on the brakes at that because I’m so confused and lost how we got from a frame to a person Colton has never spoken about before.

“What?” I look at him while he concentrates on his hand on my stomach. My mouth is opening and closing like a guppy because I don’t know what to say or how we got from point A to point B in this conversation. I can tell he’s just as confused as I am so I rein in my need to know and let him find the words to explain everything.

“I’m scared about being a dad,” he says and continues the confession. And it’s not like I don’t get the fear, because I have it too, but I’m starting to connect the dots in the sense that he fears he is going to be like the father he never knew somehow. “And I thought maybe if I knew about my sperm donor then it would ease the fear that I’ll be like him.”

As much as I want to shift to take his face in my hands so he’s forced to look in my eyes, I allow him the space he needs. “You will be nothing like him, Colton. There’s not a doubt in my mind.”

I’ve seen him with the boys at The House. I’ve watched him help them overcome adversity only he could understand. Does he not have any clue how important that is? How that interaction more than just hints at the incredible father I know he will be? I wish he could see the same man I see every single day when he looks in the mirror.

He just nods his head yet doesn’t say anything for a moment. I wish there was something I could say or do to reassure him further when only time will prove the truth in my statement.

“I don’t know,” I say with a shake of my head. “I think it’s a bad idea . . . I don’t see how finding him is going to help you at all.” And I probably should keep my opinions to myself, let him deal with his past how he needs to, but at the same time we’ve had so many things crash into our reality recently, I don’t know how much more we can take. “What are you hoping to achieve if you find him?”

“A clean slate.” He then clears the emotion from his throat. “This frame is empty because I want to start this next chapter of our life with a completely clean slate. Our family deserves this. It’s . . .” His voice fades off. I reach out and link my fingers through his. His words—his thoughtfulness—are so damn overwhelming that I can’t find the words to speak just yet. “Never mind,” he says again.

“No. Please, finish. I’m quiet because I’m touched and stunned you thought of this and did this for us . . . especially after everything that has happened this month.”

“I sound like a fucking chick here but this empty frame is also my promise to you that from today forward I don’t want to just take pictures with you, I want to make memories. Good ones more than bad ones. Funny ones. Memorable ones. Precious ones. They will shift and change over time, each stage of our life together dictating what goes here, but more than anything, this empty frame with be filled with our new normal . . .” His voice trails off. Tears flood my eyes. The depth of emotion in this incredible gift from a man who thinks of himself as unromantic—despite the grand sweeping gestures he shows me time and again—is so very poignant and fitting.

“I love it,” I whisper, my eyes meeting his as I look at him through a kaleidoscope of tears. “It’s absolutely perfect.” I hug the frame, my empty treasure box in a sense, and revel in how much Colton has grown since we’ve met.

I shift so I’m on my left side, facing him, our bodies mirroring one another’s. We stare at each for a few moments, our visual connection so very intense as feelings are exchanged without any words being spoken.

“I don’t have anything to give you,” I finally say.

A shy smile turns up the corners of his mouth. “You’ve given me more than I’ve ever wanted.”

It’s silly that even after all this time I still react viscerally to praise from him, but it’s undeniable. As I draw in a shaky breath, his eyes narrow and my fingers trace over the grooves in the frame lying between us.

“Sometimes I play the ‘I’m game’ with the boys . . . want to play with me?” His grin grows, and I realize the innuendo.

“You know I’d never turn down the chance to play with you,” he says, nodding his head for me to continue. “How do you play?”

“I tell you something that starts with ‘I’m’ and then you go. You don’t get to ask questions though . . . That way you’re forced to listen to what you think the person is saying. It’s an I go, you go, type thing.” I’m shocked that in all our time together, I’ve never explained this to him, but I feel this is an absolutely perfect moment. “I’ll go first. I’m scared too,” I say in a whisper, as if the lower voice will help my confession somehow seem less.

He starts to say something that doesn’t begin with “I’m” and I shush him and bring a finger to his lips. “No reassurances. Sometimes that makes you feel like your fears are invalid. Your turn.”

I watch him struggle finding the words to express whatever it is weighing heavily on his mind. He takes a deep breath, looks over my shoulder for a few moments, and his fingers pluck at the sheet. In the last five years, he’s grown leaps and bounds in not only identifying but in the ability to articulate his emotions. And yet right now I can tell he’s at a loss on how to phrase them.

The silence stretches. My concern over what has him so tongue-tied grows.

“I’m afraid you’ll never forgive me for the video and that I couldn’t fix it.” He won’t look at me.

I close my eyes momentarily, letting the apology in his voice be the balm to the open wounds that video has caused and nod my head to let him know I heard him. Given the number of times he has apologized, I shouldn’t be surprised this was his first confession. At the same time, I appreciate his need to tell me it again.

“I’m worried that when people see us now, all they’ll be able to think of is the video. I can only hope it will die down and go away at some point.” Colton closes his eyes momentarily and gives a subtle nod. His reaction is all I need to know he feels the same way.

“I’m hopeful Eddie will get what he deserves,” Colton says, disgust and spite lacing his tone.

“I’m in agreement,” I say with a laugh, because I didn’t give a confession but I didn’t exactly break the rules either.

“Rule breaker,” he murmurs with a shy smile on his lips.

“Not hardly,” I say. “Your turn.”

“I’m worried you’re going to be so focused on Zander that it’s going to put you back in the hospital again,” he says with a lift of his eyebrows and a glance down to my belly.

“I’m concerned I’m going to let him down and not be able to help him when he needs me the most.” I fight the unease my confession brings, and try to staunch its very real side effects. I worry it will end up doing just what Colton fears, too.

“I’m certain that somehow we’ll make everything right for him,” he says, shaking his head to stop me before I even open my mouth. He knows me so well.

“I’m positive my husband likes this game because it prevents me from saying too much and arguing with him,” I confess matter-of-factly, causing him to bark out a laugh in agreement. The sound of it puts a smile on my lips before the quiet falls back around us as Colton figures out what to say next.

“I’m afraid I’m not going to be man enough to give you what you need when you need it most.” He licks his lips and forces a swallow down his throat. His eyes never waver from mine despite the absolute swell of emotion riding its way through them.