The middle part has no moment. Within this part comes the issue or object of discord. When storming this part, communication becomes the paddle that helps one row to better shores.

Monday and Kenneth talked more than they ever had. Kenneth discovered how frightened Monday had been during the months when he had ignored her. Even if she wanted to have their baby, it didn't take away the apprehension. The changes were more consequential for her as it was not just the logistics around the birth she had to deal with but the emotional stress and her body transformation. Kenneth understood all Monday wanted was support, for they were in the same boat regarding fear.

The day went on, and the sun began to sink when Kenneth remembered something. His knock on the driver's window made the sleeping man jump. The driver unwinded the window.

"Sorry for the wait. I forgot you were still waiting for me," Kenneth explained.

The driver yawned and stretched his arms, "I guess love is back on track."

Kenneth smiled; it was too early to cry victory, "What did you say your name was again?"

"I didn't say it, but thanks for asking. My name is Philippe. What's yours?"

"Kenneth."

"Nice to meet you, Kenneth. Don't hesitate to call me if you need a driver."

"I won't," Kenneth said and paid the amount the taximeter announced on the touchpad. He then added five hundred euros in cash.

Philippe's eyes widened, and he laughed nervously, "Hey, what's this."

"A tip."

The driver looked down at the hundred euro bills and returned his gaze to Kenneth. "I'm not going to complain, but it'sㅡ."

"Not enough for all your help. Please accept it."

Philippe nodded, "Well, thank you for making my day," he said, folding the bills.

The men shook hands, and Philippe drove off.

Kenneth returned to Monday's house and stopped after passing the door. He looked back at the entrance and realized it was the first time he had entered her house from the front door. Though anodyne, the gesture gave him the impression that he opened the lock to a chapter he would never leave. The feeling made Kenneth feel giddy. He sneezed and remembered that perhaps the sensation was more due to his fever.

"Are you alright, Kenneth?" Monday asked as he entered her living room.

"I think I caught a cold."

Monday raised a brow, "You're sick, and you hugged a pregnant woman with all your germs?"

Kenneth gritted teeth, realizing his error. "Sorry."

Monday sighed, "You should take a hot bath."

She accompanied Kenneth to her bathroom. With its clawfoot bathtub and large bay window behind it, the space resembled a dream setting. Everything from the tub to the tiles was immaculately white, as though one only conceived the space for pure thoughts.

Monday placed some towels and left, knowing the most challenging part of their reconciliation was yet to come.

Kenneth wanted her, but what was it for the baby?

Was he willing to accept the bundle?

One conversation couldn't resolve all the issues, and the goal seemed unrealistic even for the romance writer. The following weeks provided Monday with a few answers.

"Ouch."

"Kenneth, are you sure you don't want Franck & Sons to install the shelves?"

Kenneth's expression immediately changed from raging bull to teary puppy, "If you insist, I have no choice but to accept."

Monday shook her head. Kenneth was not a handyman, but he tried. Yes, Kenneth tried to do anything that could make himself useful.

He postponed all his activities to notice further. Monday was his only priority. He spent his days helping Monday set up things in her house and connected with his therapist via Visio.

"Wow, Kenneth, I'm impressed. When I think I couldn't get you to admit, you weren't perfect in fifteen years."

Kenneth swiped a hand on his head, "Can I get a refund because it's obvious you didn't help me in the slightest?"

His therapist laughed yellow and hoped Kenneth wasn't serious.

"How do you feel now? "

Kenneth looked across the room to Monday's seat. "ㅡI'm afraid to confide this alienated part of myself to someone."

"You're not confiding yourself to just anyone, Kenneth. It's someone you trust, and I think she knows you're not perfect."

Kenneth nodded, acknowledging the therapist's words.

"Does fear resume your current mood?"

Kenneth smiled, "No, I'm also a little midway between excited and anxious."

"Why?"

Kenneth's stare rose to meet Monday's, "We're getting closer to the birth. I want everything to go smoothly and to be perfect. I apprehend the encounter with this new being and wonder if I'll meet its expectations or the goals I set for myself. And," Kenneth paused and reflected before saying, "if I will still be me and have a grip of myself after."

Monday shook her head. It was almost impossible to make Kenneth understand that one couldn't fix goals when it came to children. She wondered if the therapist could do better.

"Kenneth, do you sincerely think one can set parenting goals?"

Kenneth clutched his hands, "I need a roadmap. Something I can cling to."

The therapist nodded, listened, and noted things before saying, "Your logic and capacity to adapt should be enough. You know it better than anyone, Kenneth. Parenting is more about one's ability to learn from new situations but mostly about the child, its personality, and needs. Remember, your child is an individual, not yours, to mold to your comfort. You'll be you, but a changing you. You can not control this new human being. Your child will learn, and so will you. Do you remember when you were a child, Kenneth? What made you happy and thrive?"

Kenneth's expression darkened as he sought moments of happiness in his childhood memories.

Monday listened to what Kenneth said and realized she knew little about him. It felt as though she read the book without checking the terms behind the asterisks. Thus, everything was new, but she retained that Kenneth had no intention of fleeing. On the contrary, it seemed he had the firm will to live their story no matter what trial he faced. His words reassured Monday, but they didn't blind Monday enough. At this point, she was in her only-the-future-will-tell mood.

If she was surprised to hear Kenneth's revelations, hers flustered the man even more.

"How do you feel, Monday?"

Monday got up and came to sit next to Kenneth, "I'm good, I'm sleeping better."

They had spoken about it. Monday would join one session of her choice. She could listen or participate. It was the second session Monday followed. She accepted to do it not just for Kenneth but herself. There were things she didn't know how to deal with. She wanted Kenneth to realize he wasn't the only one with trauma.

Kenneth discovered more about Monday's complex relationship with her parents. He couldn't believe they once considered her a failure because she didn't have a husband and kids formula or that writing books with sex scenes, toxic relationships, and pagan or atheist characters caused a family crisis. Her parents not only had high expectations, but they compared Monday to everyone.

Kenneth wondered how Monday displayed such a carefree persona when she carried stigmas of her parent's rigidity without going through the therapist process.

He had heard about it, but Monday confirmed that therapy or anything linked to mental health was a silent noun in the African community. Like many families from communities where traditions and the elders will prevail above individual desires, Monday's parents believed in what Kenneth called the proving culture. A child was brought up with the concept of constantly proving their worth in one way or another—color, gender, education, occupation, and relationships. One had to prove their value by obtaining a fictional glory for their family.

"Kenneth, you don't seem to agree." His therapist said after observing his facial expressions for a few minutes while Monday spoke.

"I'm just blown away. I still can't believe people can be so narrow-minded in this day and age. Sorry, Monday, but it's just beyond me."

It was then that Kenneth realized none of Monday's relatives except Luce visited or called and that he hadn't even met her parents, though they were having a baby.

"Kenneth, do you want to add something else?"

The man was scarlet red and had the therapist wondering what went through his mind.

"Eh, nothing. I'm just a little hot."

Kenneth refrained from adding he would fill the gaps: mother, father, lover, and friend. He wished to provide the missing pieces.

Profound scars surfaced in irrational reactions. Like many people, Monday and Kenneth feared manipulation. Thus, Kenneth made love obsolete, and Monday silently abandoned relationships. She realized she had mentally quit her relationships before the breakups.

The couple didn't know to what extent their past affected their present or could impact their future.

What the therapist saw was that both were willing to make the effort. That was positive.

Annecy was a bowl of fresh air for Kenneth. The space without skyscrapers and cacophony of cars, drivers, and pedestrians offered peace that neither Paris nor New York could.

Again, Kenneth felt Monday procured him more comfort than he gave her. He wondered if he did her any good. The thought crossed his mind while he watched her sleep or when he stared at her when she wasn't looking.

Monday did the same; there were so many things she wished to tell him but didn't know how.

Finally, the baby's birth date arrived.

"Can someone tell me what I'm doing here? Is this the thanks I get for helping patch up with carrot head?" Dagmar asked while looking at the pool in Monday's living room. The scene was almost an unrealistic experience for the thriller novelist.

"Yes, Dagmar, and are you really going to argue with a woman on the brink of giving birth?"

Kenneth had told Monday what Dagmar had done. After the first minutes of disenchantment, she recognized how Dagmar's boost had changed the course of her present. The writer held a particular spot in Monday's heart; thus, she wanted Dagmar to be present.

While Dagmar and Luce helped the midwife, Kenneth paced in the garden under Blaze's, Ben's, and Dagmar's fiancé's gaze.

"Kenneth, are you okay?"

"Yes, I mean no, I don't understand. We should go to the hospital. There are no studies supporting this kind of birth. Anything can happen. Can someone help me convince her?" Kenneth said, turning to face the group.

Their encounter was only a few hours old, but the situation forced the accelerated familiarity between the men.

"Kenneth, don't worry; I spoke to the midwife. She's very competent. Also, I'm a doctor, and Luce is a nurse. It's more backup than most people have," Blaze said.

"Kenneth, trust me, you can't make a woman in labor change her mind. It's common knowledge," Ben said and took a sip of his Pina Colada, showing that they were not on the same stress scale.

"Why is it taking so long?" Kenneth said while he wrecked his hair. One could think someone had thrown a bucket of red seaweed on his head. Exit the slick and suave guru, Kenneth, the impatient dad-to-be had arrived.

Dagmar's fiancé sighed and said aloofly, "They'll call you in once the setup is ready."

Kenneth didn't know if he wanted to see the birth or wait outside. It would surprise Monday, who accepted the possibility of not having him in the room. Kenneth knew how happy his presence would make her. What retained him there was the thought of seeing her suffer. His breath stopped every time he imagined her face twisting in pain.

He couldn't assist in such torture.

"Kenneth," Dagmar called.

Kenneth stopped pacing. He took a deep breath before saying, "I'm coming."

Dagmar came to join her fiancé. "Wow, I didn't think he'd go in."

"I did. I knew he would." Blaze and her fiancé said in unison.

The men didn't know each other but agreed on one thing: They would do anything for the woman they loved.