Mr. Remington Got Me Pregnant novel Chapter 29

Emery’s POV

The first time I saw my daughter, something inside me finally clicked. It was like I became whole in that instant, like every missing piece I didn’t even know was gone snapped back together.

I realized right then I didn’t need anything else. Just her.

Motherhood is exhausting, overwhelming, and sometimes it feels like everything is a constant struggle to stay afloat. But with her, everything suddenly felt bearable.

Like the chaos around me faded just enough for the two of us to find peace.

The second month after she was born, the world shrank down to the size of our tiny coastal apartment. No gala invitations cluttered the calendar, no whispers or rumors in the press, no endless boardroom battles waiting on the other side of the door.

It was just us. It wasn’t some magical or storybook ending.

We didn’t suddenly slip back into an easy rhythm, pretending like nothing had ever happened. There were still long nights when exhaustion felt endless, mornings that arrived too early, and moments when I questioned everything, wondering if I could ever find solid ground again.

But Landon was there. Every single day. He didn’t wait for me to ask for help. He just showed up. He changed diapers at three in the morning without a complaint.

Bottles were washed and stacked before I was even awake.

When I looked like a zombie, which was most days, he would gently take the baby from my arms and pace the apartment, rocking her against his chest and whispering made-up lullabies just to give me a break.

He never brought up the past unless I did. There were no dramatic speeches or guilt-soaked apologies. Instead, he just stayed present, steady, consistent. His presence alone was enough.

There were moments when I didn’t even realize I needed him until he was there. Like the night I stood in the kitchen at two a.m., half-asleep and fumbling to reach for the formula canister.

I hadn’t even turned on the stove yet when Landon walked in, rubbing his eyes, carrying a warm bottle in his hand.

“Already done,” he said softly, handing it to me with a tired but genuine smile.

Or the mornings when I couldn’t get her to stop crying no matter what I tried. I bounced her, paced the room, sang every lullaby I knew until my voice cracked and tears threatened at the corners of my eyes.

Then Landon came in, took one look, and without a word scooped her up from my arms.

“You rest,” he whispered. He held our daughter close against his chest and rocked her gently. She quieted within seconds. I just stood there, stunned. He smiled then, quietly.

“I’ve been watching you,” he said. “You don’t have to do it all alone anymore.” And for the first time, I believed him.

Some nights, we barely said a word. We just sat on opposite ends of the couch while the baby slept soundly between us in her bassinet.

I watched him fold tiny onesies with the same hands that used to slam down on boardroom tables during meetings. It was a different kind of strength now.

One evening, I was nursing her in the rocker while Landon folded laundry nearby. The windows were cracked open, letting in the cool sea air.

Everything felt still, like the world had slowed down just for a moment.

He looked up at me, his expression unreadable at first. Then he spoke. “Can we start again?”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Start what again?”

“Us.” His voice was soft, almost shy, not demanding or desperate.

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