With a laugh, I grabbed a pair of scissors from the kitchen to slice open the box. They stood behind me while I sucked in a deep, fortifying breath. Ian settled a hand on my hip, and Sage squealed when I pushed aside the brown packing paper and pulled out the first copy.

“Mom,” she breathed. “It looks so good.”

My eyes were glossy with tears again, a completely different kind this time. I flipped through the pages and exhaled sharply. “Holy crap, I never thought I’d hold another one of these in my hands again.”

Ian pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “I’m so proud of you,” he whispered.

I was proud of me too.

But even more when I flipped the book over to study the front and ran my hands over the glossy, embossed title, slowing my fingers when they traced over the author’s name.

My name.

Dark Secrets by Harlow Wilder.

The sight of it on the book made my heart turn a slow, contended roll in my chest. My publisher bought into the new pen name immediately, given the change in genre.

I was ready to claim this. There was nothing I needed to hide, and even though I’d still guard our life—him and our kids—Ian was supportive in all the ways that I needed.

“Can I read this one?” Sage asked.

“No,” Ian and I responded immediately.

My daughter deflated, and I gave her a quick hug. “When you’re older, kiddo. I promise.”

“Fine.” She trudged toward the door. “Don’t we have to go?”

Ian glanced at the thick watch on his wrist. “Yes. Come on, let’s give your mom a second with the book, we’ll go start the car.”

Sage skipped out the door, and Ian gave me a lingering kiss, resting his forehead against mine before he pulled back. “I said I was proud of you, right?”

I smiled. “Yes.”

But instead of staring at the book, I tucked it against my chest and watched the two of them walk to his big truck. Sage tried to trip Ian, and he side-stepped easily with a deep laugh. I set the book down carefully onto the dining table, and spread my hand over my stomach, closing my eyes while gratitude swept over me in an immense, humbling wave.

“You know what, little one,” I whispered. “You’ve got some pretty amazing people who love you already. We can’t wait to meet you.”

Then I smiled, touching the edge of the book one more time before I walked out of the house. That might be a book I was proud of, but as I pulled the door shut behind me and caught Ian watching me through the windshield, I knew ours was my favorite story of all.

The End

Source: www.seynovel.com