The plane’s engine hummed like a lullaby above the clouds, but neither Emma nor Jake could sleep. They sat side by side, fingers laced, eyes fixed on the tiny screen showing their route. It was a short flight—barely two hours—but for them, it felt like the last chapter of a long, familiar book. After this, everything would change.
Jake glanced over at Emma. She looked tired but happy, the kind of tired that comes from planning something big and beautiful. Her brown eyes held a spark he hadn’t seen in a long time—excitement, nervousness, and maybe just a trace of fear. He squeezed her hand.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
Emma turned to him and smiled. “Yeah. Just… taking it all in.”
Their destination wasn’t anything exotic. Just a cozy little cabin by the lake, two hours north of their city. A place they’d visited years ago when they first started dating. It had been Emma’s idea—”one last trip,” she had said, “before we start this new chapter.”
And that chapter? Parenthood.
In just four weeks, they were scheduled to meet the baby girl they were adopting. After five years of paperwork, interviews, disappointments, and long, late-night conversations, it was finally happening. But before they opened the door to their new life, they needed a moment to breathe—to remember who they were before diapers and night feedings and lullabies became their norm.
The cabin hadn’t changed much. Same creaky porch, same wooden swing overlooking the lake, same carved initials in the tree out back—E + J, surrounded by a crooked little heart. Jake smiled when he saw it. They hadn’t been back since that weekend when they shared a bottle of wine by the fire and promised they’d be together no matter what.
Inside, it smelled like pinewood and dust, but the air was peaceful. Emma dropped her bag, took off her shoes, and immediately walked over to the window. The lake shimmered in the late afternoon sun, calm and endless.
Jake wrapped his arms around her from behind. “We made it,” he whispered.
Emma leaned into him. “We did.”
That evening, they cooked pasta together, just like they had the first time they stayed there. Jake accidentally burned the garlic bread, which made Emma laugh so hard she snorted. They ate on the floor, listening to the crackle of the fire, sharing stories from their childhoods, and wondering what kind of stories their daughter would one day tell about them.
Later, they sat on the swing outside, wrapped in a blanket, staring up at the stars. It was quiet. The kind of quiet that only happens far from city lights and responsibilities. Jake leaned his head back and sighed.
“Do you think we’re ready?” he asked.
Emma took a moment before answering. “I think we’re ready to try. And I think that’s enough.”
He nodded. “I’m scared.”
“Me too,” she said. “But I think being scared just means we care enough to want to do it right.”
They sat there for a long time, the wooden swing gently swaying beneath them, until the chill of the night finally sent them inside.
The next morning, they walked along the lake, toes sinking into the damp earth. They picked wildflowers and skipped stones. They talked about baby names and nursery colors and how neither of them knew how to swaddle a baby but figured they’d learn. They took photos of each other laughing, barefoot, glowing in the golden sunlight.
After lunch, they built a small fire outside and roasted marshmallows, even though it was way too early in the day for it. Emma accidentally dropped hers in the flames and Jake teased her for it until she tackled him into the grass. They lay there, side by side, the clouds drifting above them like slow-moving dreams.
“You know what I was thinking?” Emma said, eyes fixed on the sky.
“What?”
“This time next year, we’ll be chasing a little girl around this lake.”
Jake smiled. “Yeah. And probably begging her to eat a marshmallow instead of throwing it into the fire.”
Emma laughed. “That sounds about right.”
They spent the evening packing up slowly, not because they had much to take home, but because they weren’t quite ready to leave the peace behind. They knew the coming weeks would be full of nerves and noise, forms to sign, bags to pack, a car seat to install. There’d be a thousand little decisions and probably just as many tears.
But this weekend had reminded them of something important—that before they were about to become parents, they were people. Two people who had loved each other fiercely, waited patiently, and never gave up, even when the path was steep and uncertain.
On their last night, they lit a single candle in the cabin’s old lantern and placed it on the porch between them.
“To our last trip before the journey,” Jake said, raising his cup of tea.
Emma clinked hers against his. “And to every beautiful, messy, unforgettable moment ahead.”
They watched the flame flicker in the soft wind, hearts full, arms wrapped around each other, ready—not for perfection, but for love.
As they drove away the next morning, the cabin disappearing in the rearview mirror, they didn’t look back. Not because they didn’t love that place—but because they finally had something even better to look forward to.
