Page 164 of The Illusion
"For this. For all of it. For waiting for me. For believing in me when I didn't believe in myself. For building this life with me."
He presses a kiss to the top of my head. "Julie, you did all of that. I just got to be here for it. I just got to love you."
I think about the woman I was a year ago—trapped in a marriage built on lies, doubting herself at every turn, afraid to trust her own instincts. I think about the journey that brought me here, to this man, to this house, to this life. I think about how I survived something that should have destroyed me. HowI found my way back to myself. How I learned that real love doesn't manipulate or control or demand. This is what real love looks like. Not grand gestures or expensive gifts or three-hundred guest weddings with couture dresses.
The real stuff is, undeniably, so much better than the illusion ever was.
EPILOGUE
RYAN
The contractions startedat one in the morning. Julie wakes me up with a hand on my chest, her breathing careful and controlled. "I think it's time," she whispers, and I go from dead sleep to absolutely terrified in about half a second.
Now, at the hospital, I'm pacing the labor and delivery room like a caged animal while Julie lies in the bed, her face flushed with exertion, her hair pulled back in a messy bun. She's wearing one of those hospital gowns that doesn't close all the way in the back, and she's never looked more beautiful or more powerful.
"You're doing amazing," I tell her, for probably the hundredth time.
She gives me a tired smile. "You keep saying that."
"Because it's true. You're incredible."
The nurse—her name is Patricia, and she's been nothing but kind—checks the monitor and nods. "You're at eight centimeters. Getting close."
Close. We've been here for six hours already, and it feels like both five minutes and five days. Julie's been a trooper through all of it—breathing through contractions, walking the halls whenthey told her to, not complaining even though I can see the pain written all over her face.
I've been a nervous wreck the entire time. Not that I'm showing it. I'm holding her hand, wiping her forehead with a cool washcloth, whispering encouragement. But inside, I'm terrified. What if something goes wrong? What if?—
No. I can't think like that. Julie's strong. She's the strongest person I know. She can do this. Shewilldo this.
Another contraction hits, and Julie's grip on my hand tightens. I watch her face as she breathes through it, her jaw clenched, her eyes squeezed shut. I want to take it from her. I want to absorb the pain so she doesn't have to feel it. But I can't. All I can do is be here.
"You've got this, Buttercup," I murmur. "Just breathe. You're doing so good."
When the contraction passes, she opens her eyes and looks at me. There's sweat on her upper lip and exhaustion in her gaze, but there's also this fierce determination. This woman is about to bring our child into the world. I've been secretly hoping for a girl since we found out Julie was pregnant. I haven't told her this, but the thought of having a little girl with Julie's eyes and her kindness and her strength... it makes my chest tight just thinking about it.
"How are you feeling?" I ask.
"Like I'm being split in half," she says, but there's a hint of humor in her voice. "But also like I can do this. Does that make sense?"
"Perfect sense."
Patricia comes back in and checks her again. "You're at nine and a half. We're almost there. When you feel the urge to push, you let me know."
Julie nods, and I can see the anticipation and fear warring on her face. I lean down and kiss her forehead.
"I love you so much," I tell her. "And I'm so proud of you."
"I love you too," she whispers. "Thank you for being here."
"Always. I'm always going to be here."
The next hour is a blur of intensity. Julie's body takes over, and she starts pushing. She's incredible—focused and strong and determined. She grips my hand so hard I'm pretty sure she's going to break it, but I don't care. I'd let her break every bone in my body if it meant she could do this.
"Come on, baby," I whisper. "You're so close. I can see the head."
"You can?" Julie's eyes go wide.
"Yeah.”
