They sang along to old playlists—songs from college they hadn’t thought of in years. Every time a truck passed, Catherine would feel a kick and press her hand gently to her stomach. “Almost there,” she’d say, half to herself, half to the baby.
The marina was tucked away in a small inlet past the tourist spots. Their boat, Sea Glass, was tied up at slip C-12, gently rocking in the water. Catherine thought the creaking ropes sounded oddly calming.