The Vauhn estate looked colder than usual when Melissa and David returned from Nigeria. The Dublin sky hung heavy with clouds, and the rolling green hills seemed too pristine—too curated—after the raw beauty of Africa.
Melissa clutched David's hand as they stepped into the mansion's grand foyer. A butler approached with practiced formality, but there was a flicker of something less rigid in his eyes—respect, perhaps.
Candice and James Vauhn were already waiting in the drawing room.
Candice wore her signature tailored pantsuit, but her expression softened as her daughter entered. James stood at the bar cart, swirling a small glass of whiskey, eyes thoughtful.
Melissa wasted no time.
"I'm pregnant," she said.
There was a silence so profound that even the ticking grandfather clock seemed to pause.
James's glass stilled midair. Candice's brows rose slowly, her lips parting slightly.
"Pregnant," Candice repeated, as if trying to taste the word.
David stepped forward. "We found out in Nigeria. It wasn't planned, but it's wanted. Fully."
Candice blinked. "You look… happy."
"I am," Melissa said, her voice trembling slightly. "For the first time, I am truly, deeply happy. And this baby—our baby—isn't a complication. It's a blessing."
James finally spoke, his voice slow, deep. "You're both still young. Your careers are just beginning. Are you sure this isn't… premature?"
Melissa smiled faintly. "Nothing about our love has ever been on your schedule, Dad."
Candice glanced between them. Her eyes, unusually glassy, settled on David. "You've made our daughter someone we now admire. And I see now that whatever path she walks, you'll walk beside her."
She stood and approached Melissa, her voice lowering.
"A child," she said, almost in awe. "Melissa, you're going to be a mother."
Melissa nodded, eyes damp.
Candice reached forward and pulled her into a hug. "Then let's prepare for this child to be born into strength. And legacy."
Even James finally approached, placing a hand on David's shoulder. "Well then, son. We'd better expand the nursery."
Spring bloomed in quiet bursts. Daffodils curled open across the Vauhn estate, and Melissa's bump began to show beneath flowing maternity dresses. Dublin thawed around them, even as something new blossomed within their circle.
The wedding plans had resumed.
Unlike the glamorous spectacle initially proposed by Candice before Melissa's transformation, this one was different—smaller, more intimate. Elegant, yes, but with accents of Nigerian culture folded seamlessly into Irish traditions.
There were debates—do we serve jollof rice next to roast lamb?—and discussions about whether Melissa would wear a traditional Angḕr after the vows (she eventually said yes).
David, meanwhile, had begun setting up the Ireland branch of his TIV Homes Initiative, in partnership with Vauhn Industries. With a special focus on sustainable housing for vulnerable communities, the foundation had gained media attention quickly.
"What you're doing," Melissa told him one night, resting her hand on her growing belly, "is rewriting the legacy of what it means to come from both worlds."
He kissed her forehead. "So are you."
Later that week, they met with Sister Evelyn, a nun who had been a mentor to Melissa during her early attempts at sobriety. She was now the head of a youth recovery center, and Melissa wanted to fund a new wing under her own name.
"You don't have to make amends for who you were," Sister Evelyn said gently.
"I'm not," Melissa replied. "I'm investing in who I've become."
They walked through the old convent garden, the air fragrant with wisteria. David stayed back, watching Melissa speak to the younger girls in the program—girls who looked at her as both myth and miracle.
One of them whispered, "Is that really her? The Vauhn girl who changed?"
Melissa knelt beside her. "I'm not a storybook. I'm proof that it's never too late."
That night, Melissa and David lay beneath soft cotton sheets in their quiet suite, the sounds of the estate hushed around them.
She rested her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.
"Do you think our child will carry all this?" she asked. "The legacy. The history. The weight."
David ran his fingers through her hair. "I think they'll carry only what we teach them to value. Not names. Not money. But love. And purpose."
Melissa smiled, half-asleep now.
"Then we'll raise someone brave," she whispered.
And with the moon rising outside, and a quiet peace wrapping itself around them like silk, they dreamed of the child whose heartbeat had already begun to echo beneath the emerald skies.