Olivia floated home from Wabash Avenue, mind reeling. Liam—an undercover cop, not homeless? It was like a TV drama. She scolded herself as she climbed to her South Side apartment. Calm down, Olivia. You can’t fall for him. You’re pregnant with Noah’s baby. He’s probably just being nice. But her heart thumped at his blue eyes and shy grin. In bed, she decided: I’ll meet him, but just to talk.
The next day, Olivia was a wreck, pacing her apartment. She tried two outfits, settling on a sweater and jeans, her baby bump showing. Should I go? But at 10 a.m., she was at the Lake Shore Drive underpass, nerves buzzing. Liam was late. She huffed, muttering, “Figures. Talks big about coffee, then ghosts.” As she turned to leave, he ran up, breathless, holding wildflowers from a vendor.
“Sorry, Olivia!” he panted, cheeks red. “Got stuck at the 7th District station. Captain wouldn’t shut up. Forgive me?”
She softened, taking the flowers. “You’re lucky these are nice. So, where’s that coffee?”
Liam laughed, leading her to a nearby Caribou Coffee. “I owe you a latte, but I’m broke till payday. Cop salary, you know? How about a walk in Grant Park instead? I’ve got stories.” Olivia shrugged, secretly glad—no pressure, just vibes.
As they strolled past Buckingham Fountain, Liam opened up. “I was married once,” he said, kicking a stone. “Her name was Rachel. She left me for a rich banker. Wanted yachts and Paris trips, not my tiny apartment. It broke me. Thought I’d never feel again, so I took this undercover job. Risky, but what’d I have to lose?”
Olivia nodded, her walls lowering. “I get it. I lost someone, too. Noah—my fiancé. Car crash. I loved him so much, and now I’m pregnant, alone, figuring it out. His parents think I’m a gold-digger. I’ve got no one.”
Liam stopped, eyes soft. “That’s tough, Olivia. But you’re not nothing. You’re strong, kind—giving me coffee when you thought I was a nobody? That’s special.”
She blushed, looking away. “I just know what it’s like to have nothing.”
They sat on a bench, the park alive around them. Liam took her hand. “Look, I know you’re grieving Noah, and I’m not pushing. But you’re not alone anymore. I’m here, okay? As a friend, whatever you need.”
Olivia’s heart swelled. She squeezed his hand, whispering, “Thanks, Liam. That means a lot.” For the first time in months, she felt hope.
Liam became Olivia’s anchor. They met often—coffee at Caribou, walks in Grant Park, or hanging in her South Side apartment. They shared everything—past pains, silly dreams. Liam listened without judgment, always with a laugh or kind word. Olivia couldn’t believe she’d found someone so steady. But she was falling for him—hard. His touch, his warm smile, sent her heart racing. It felt like betraying Noah. He’s gone, but he’s my everything. How can I feel this for Liam?
She’d lie awake, wrestling guilt. “Noah, I’m sorry,” she’d whisper, clutching his jacket. “I love you, but Liam… he’s good. He cares about me and the baby. Is this wrong?” She worried Liam wouldn’t want a kid that wasn’t his. Why would he? He’s got his own life.
Liam was all in. He’d bring groceries—apples, spinach, baby stuff—stocking her fridge like it was nothing. When her feet swelled, he’d massage them, joking about her “cankles” to make her laugh. He went to doctor’s appointments, helping with Medicaid forms, never complaining. But alone, Liam was a wreck. I love her so much, he’d think, staring at his ceiling. Her and that baby. But she’s still hung up on Noah. If I push, I’ll lose her.
He’d never forget seeing her in that underpass, her freckled face glowing as she handed him a coffee, thinking he was down and out. Her kindness stunned him. She’s pregnant, struggling, and still helping strangers? That’s who I want. But he stayed cool, scared to scare her off.
One night, Olivia’s water broke early. Pain hit hard, and panic surged. She called Liam, hands shaking.
“Liam, I’m freaking out,” she gasped. “The baby’s coming. Help!”
“Stay calm,” he said, voice steady. “You’ll be okay. I’m calling 911 and coming over. Grab your bag.”
His calm soothed her. At Rush University Medical Center, Liam paced the waiting room, checking his phone. Hours crawled by. A nurse rushed out. “You’re Olivia’s husband?”
Liam didn’t hesitate. “Yeah, that’s me.”
“She had a tough delivery—big baby, breech. We need a blood donor. Your blood type?”
“B-positive,” he said, rolling up his sleeve. “Take what you need.”
Olivia woke in the ICU, groggy, pain sharp. Liam was there, holding her hand, eyes red but warm. She clung to him, tears falling, overwhelmed by his love. He saved me and my baby. In that moment, she let herself love him, guilt fading as she held him close.
Olivia lay in Rush’s ICU, stunned by the nurse’s words. Liam had donated blood, saving her and her baby. He didn’t hesitate. The nurse handed her a chubby-cheeked boy, nine pounds of wonder. “Meet your son,” she said. Olivia’s breath caught as she held him, tears flowing. His tiny fingers gripped hers, and love overwhelmed her. She named him Mason, after Noah’s grandpa, his hero. “Hey, Mason,” she whispered, kissing his forehead. “I’m your mom. We’re gonna be okay.”
The nurse smiled. “Your husband’s a keeper. Stayed all night, worried sick.” Olivia didn’t correct her—Liam was her rock. A week later, he was waiting outside Rush with a taxi, balloons, and a goofy grin. He held Mason like an expert, cooing, “Look at this little MVP!” Olivia’s heart fluttered, but she pushed it down. He’s just being kind.
Back at her South Side apartment, life was chaos. Mason cried constantly, his tummy issues keeping Olivia awake. Exhausted, she rocked him, trying not to break. Liam stepped up. After cop shifts, he’d change diapers, warm bottles, smiling. “Nap time, mama,” he’d say, nudging her to the couch. He’d push Mason’s stroller around the block, singing off-key. Olivia watched, amazed. He’s not the dad, and he’s all in.
One evening, Liam’s mom, Patricia, showed up with baby formula and a shy smile. “Heard Mason’s fussy,” she said. “This helped Liam as a baby.” Olivia was stunned. Patricia showed her how to mix it, and Mason slept longer. “You’re a lifesaver,” Olivia said. Patricia shrugged. “Liam’s crazy about you two. I see why.”
Months passed in a blur of feedings and sleepless nights. Liam was there for it all—first smiles, baths, spit-ups. He’d play peek-a-boo, making Mason giggle. Olivia couldn’t imagine life without him. But they avoided the L-word, sharing long looks, the air thick with feelings. Olivia felt Noah’s shadow. Can I love Liam without betraying Noah?
One night, after a tough shift, Liam came over in his uniform. Olivia handed him a coffee, their hands brushing, sparks flying. He set the mug down, eyes locked on hers. “Olivia, I can’t pretend anymore,” he said, voice low. “I love you. And Mason. I want to be your family.”
Olivia’s breath caught. She kissed him softly, resting her head on his chest, his heartbeat steady. She felt whole.
Olivia’s kiss lingered, a spark igniting her heart. Liam carried her to the bedroom, his touch gentle but intense, each kiss fueling their fire. “You’re everything, Olivia,” he murmured. She melted into him, guilt fading. They moved together, every touch a vow. After, they lay tangled in the sheets, moonlight through the blinds. Olivia rested on Liam’s chest, his ਨ
System: his heartbeat grounding her. Noah would want this, she thought. He’d want me and Mason to be loved.
The next morning, they sat on the couch, Mason babbling in his playpen. Liam twirled her hair, grinning. “So, we’re doing this, right? You, me, Mason—family?” Olivia nodded, smiling shyly. They married at the Cook County Courthouse, just them, Mason, and a few cop friends. Patricia beamed, doting on Mason like a grandma.
Life settled. Liam moved into the apartment, his stuff crammed in. They cooked cheap meals—spaghetti, frozen Lou Malnati’s—laughing over Mason’s messy eating. Liam worked at the 7th District, Olivia returned to DePaul part-time, juggling mom life and classes. Money was tight, but they were happy, their family a shield against the world.
Liam couldn’t stop thinking about Noah’s parents. Linda and Michael rejected Mason, and it bothered him. How can they ignore their grandson? Olivia refused to discuss them, still hurt. Liam acted quietly, keeping it from her.
One evening, after a long shift, Liam drove to their Oak Park estate. He rang the bell, Mason’s photo—a grinning baby in a Bears onesie—in his pocket. Linda answered, looking worn. “What do you want?” she asked sharply.
“I’m Liam, Olivia’s husband,” he said firmly. “This is about Mason, your grandson.” He showed the photo. “He’s Noah’s son. Look—same eyes, same smile. You can hate Olivia, but he’s your blood. Don’t miss out.”
Linda’s lips trembled. “That girl ruined our son! You think we trust her? She’s a foster kid after our money!” Michael, frail with a cane, glared silently. Liam stood firm. “You’re wrong. She loved Noah. Mason’s all you have of him. Think about it.” He left the photo and walked away, heavy but resolute.