I looked up from my laptop when the doorbell rang, glancing at the clock. "Who the hell is ringing our doorbell at seven o'clock at night?" I wondered aloud as I got up to answer it.

An older couple was standing there with nervous, yet polite smiles on their faces. The lady stood there firmly holding her purse while her husband greeted me. "Good evening, forgive us if we're disturbing you. We are looking for Owen Grant and this was his last known address, according to my company's investigator."

"Investigator?" I didn't like the sound of that. "I'm Austin Logan, Owen's husband. Is there something I can do for you?"

The man seemed to relax slightly. "Forgive me, I've been terribly rude. In my haste, I nearly forgot that we'd been told he's now married. I'm Bradford Landon, and this is my wife Brenda. It's rather important that we speak with Owen, if at all possible."

"Landon. As in Joshua Landon? I presume that would make you Josh's parents? Forgive me, won't you please come in?" I reluctantly stepped aside to invite into my home the very people who'd booted Owen out of his friend's apartment without a second thought. Despite the way they’d treated him, I knew in my heart that Owen wouldn't want me to just turn them away.

I led them into the living room and motioned toward the couches. "Make yourselves at home, and I'll just run upstairs and find Owen. Can I offer you any refreshments?"

Brenda waved a hand as she spoke for the first time. "No, thank you, dear. Just Owen, if you would?"

"Wait right here, I'll be back in a few minutes." I left them to settle in while I ran upstairs. I found Owen in the loft, putting the finishing touches on a charcoal self-portrait. I smiled at the view. He was sitting with his shirt off, looking at himself in a full-length mirror while he worked. When he didn’t seem to realize I was interrupting, I walked a little closer and spoke to let him know I was in the room. "I really hope that's not going into the show. I think that one should remain in the artist's personal collection."

Owen startled when I spoke. "Jiminy Christmas! We have got to put a bell on your neck. Damn, you're worse than a cat, the way you sneak up on me," he grouched as he set the charcoal aside and turned to me with a playful glare. "What's wrong? Did I forget dinner again? I keep thinking I'm almost done, but then I find another little tweak I want to make. What do you think? Is it at all realistic?"

I walked over to take a better look at the quite lifelike self-portrait. "That's amazing, Owen. And done in charcoal, it has a real vulnerability to it. There’s just something special about black and white, you know? The contrasts just capture emotions so well."

"Good." Owen breathed a sigh of relief. "That's what I was going for on this one. This is my pregnancy portrait, and I want it to show all the ups and downs and joys and fears I’m feeling. I keep thinking about the baby while I work and hoping all those crazy swirls of emotions are coming through in the art."

"They definitely are, in my opinion. I think you've captured it well." I took a breath and nodded toward his shirt that hung on the back of a chair across the room. "Speaking of the baby… we have a couple of surprise guests downstairs. You might want to put your shirt on for this one because Josh's parents are waiting to speak with you. They say it's urgent, and to be honest, they both look like they're about to have a panic attack or something."

Owen's brow furled as he lurched to his feet. "Why in the hell would those assholes want to see me? The last time I saw them they called me a liar and kicked me out on the street." His bravado flagged as he slumped his shoulders. "I guess I do have to see them, though. They're Josh's parents; I owe him that much, I suppose."

"You don't owe him anything," I said candidly. "And I doubt that he would disagree. But I also know you well enough by now to know that you wouldn't be able to live with yourself if you didn't hear them out. They wanted to find you bad enough that they used an investigator to track you down."

Owen slipped his shirt on, tugging it down before looking up at me in dismay. "What if they want to take the baby? They can't do that, right? They have a lot of money for lawyers. What if they want to have a piece of Josh back in the form of his son? You won't let them do that, right?"

"Come here," I said as I walked closer and pulled him into a hug. Rubbing a circle on his back, I held him tight for several long moments. "They don't have any legal rights to take your child. And if they tried, my attorneys would eat their attorneys for lunch. You have me on your side, remember? Prenuptial agreement—it's my job to protect you."

Owen laughed against my chest, or something to that effect—it was more of a cross between a sob and a giggle. His eyes were full of trust as he gazed up at me with his chin resting against my chest. "What would I do without you? I don't know where you came from, Austin Logan. But I do know that meeting you was the luckiest thing that ever happened to me."

Smiling down at him, the urge to kiss his bow-shaped mouth was overwhelming. Clearing my throat, I pulled away and went for humor. "What do you mean you don't know where I came from? I came from my mother's womb, a biology lesson you're about to find out for yourself before too much longer. Now come on, put your brave face on and let's go see what those stiffs want from you.”

As a sign of solidarity, we walked in the living room hand in hand. I led Owen over to the couch closest to where the Landons were sitting and helped him get settled before taking a seat at his side.

"Hello again, Mr. and Mrs. Landon. You're looking well," Owen said politely. "My husband said you wished to speak to me about something?"

Mrs. Landon broke into tears, her eyes fixated on Owen’s stomach. While Mr. Landon quietly rubbed her back and passed her a handkerchief, she gathered herself and took a deep breath. "Please don't be offended when I ask you this, but it's important. Were you telling us the truth when you said the baby you're expecting was fathered by our son?"

Owen looked irritated as he bit his lip and gave a sharp nod. I gave his hand a squeeze and took over. "I believe my husband's already been over this with you, Mrs. Landon. No offense, but was there a purpose to the question?"

She started crying again, covering her mouth with the handkerchief as she nodded her head up and down. Her husband pulled her against his chest, cradling the back of her head in the palm of his hand as he smiled regretfully at Owen.

"Owen, we've done you a great disservice. We should have given you a piece of important information months ago that might have had bearing on your decision to keep the child. There are tests that should have been run, you see." Mr. Landon spoke stiffly, but his own eyes were filled with what appeared to be tears of remorse.

"Tests? Decision to keep the child? As if I would've done anything other than that, especially given the fact that I was already five months pregnant at the time. What is this about? I hate to be rude, but you're scaring me." Owen squeezed my hand and scooted a little closer as if needing more support.

Mr. Landon gave a terse nod and began to speak in a stoic tone. "Forgive me, that was a harsh way to say that. Joshua may or may not have told you this, but he had an older brother. Our son Heath died at seven months of age due to Tay-Sachs disease."

"Tay-Sachs disease? I've never heard of that." I was ready to pull out my phone and start googling, but made a mental note to do it later while I waited calmly for his response instead.

"It's a genetic disorder for which there is no cure." Mr. Landon took a deep breath and continued to explain. "In Tay-Sachs patients, there is a missing enzyme that results in the accumulation of excess gangliosides. In layman's terms, it's a defective gene that fails to regulate the fatty substances within the nervous system. The disease will eventually cause disability and death. It doesn't normally strike until an infant is six months or older, but once it does, the child's days are numbered."

"I see." I slid my hand out of Owen's and put my arm around his shoulder instead, hugging him to my side. "What are the odds of the child inheriting this disease?"

Mr. Landon seemed to relax a little as he began discussing statistics. "Before we can decide the odds, the first question is whether or not Owen is a carrier of Tay-Sachs. Joshua was, thanks to our genetics. In couplings where only one parent is a carrier, none of their children will get the defect. But the statistical probability is that half of their children might be carriers, so the next generation would also want to be checked. When both parents are carriers, though, the risk gets higher. At that point, there is only a twenty-five percent chance of the child having normal genes while the risk of being a carrier doubles."

"And you and your wife, are you both carriers?" I asked, needing to have the complete picture while my brain was rapidly calculating the statistics on Owen's behalf.

Mr. Landon nodded heavily. "My wife and I are both carriers. We had no idea, you understand. My family were Ashkenazi Jews from Eastern Europe, while my wife descended from a small French-Canadian community. We found out when our firstborn was diagnosed that those are the two main populations known to carry this deadly gene. If only one of us had been a carrier, it wouldn't have been so deadly for our poor Heath. The chances are lower for our grandchild, but they are still there. That's why we wanted to urge Owen to get the baby tested."

Owen turned his face into my chest, his shoulders shaking as he cried hysterically. I rubbed his back, trying to think of something, anything that I could say to help make him feel better. "Take a deep breath, Owen. I firmly believe that there is a meaning to everything that happens in life, and that things always happen the way they were meant to," I said softly.

Owen’s head jerked up as he stared at me in shock for several seconds. "That's what Josh used to say," he said as tears streamed from his eyes. His lip trembled as he shook his head. "But what if he was wrong? What if you're wrong?" His voice grew higher with every word until he sounded nearly hysterical. "Did you hear what he said, Austin? My baby could die! And we don’t know if I’m a carrier because I don’t know my background!"

Pulling away from my arms, Owen pushed up on his legs to stand up, only to double over and almost fall before I caught him. Owen clutched his stomach and whimpered in pain as fluid gushed from between his legs.

Just like the night we’d met, I matter-of-factly scooped him up into my arms. "Mr. Landon, you and your wife are welcome to follow me if you'd like, but it looks like your grandson is about to make his appearance. If you'd be so kind, would you mind locking my door as you leave?"

Without waiting for a response, I rushed out of the room and to my car, where I’d luckily had the foresight to place a bag of necessities. I needed to get Owen to a hospital.

*****

Owen refused to let go of my hand, insisting that I accompany him into the delivery room. He finally released me long enough to let me put on the surgical gown and gloves the nurses were kind enough to provide, but then he wanted my hand back the minute it was available. At first, the sounds and smells of the delivery ward made me want to run screaming, but all it took was one look into Owen's trusting eyes to make me stay.

The delivery seemed to pass in minutes, but it was probably more like hours—time had lost its meaning for me. My attention was completely focused on Owen. Veins bulged in his forehead as he strained to push, his face flushed and dripping with sweat.

Throughout his entire labor, I let him squeeze my hand while I dabbed his sweat away with tissues and fed him ice chips. I didn't even realize the baby was coming out until I heard a squawking noise that quickly turned into a piercing scream.

Dr. Hunt chuckled as he laid the angry baby across Owen's chest. "Your son certainly has a good set of lungs, I'll give him that."

"Isn't he beautiful?" Owen said in a breathy voice filled with wonder as he ran his fingertips over the child's body.

I wouldn't have believed it if someone had told me this in advance, but I didn't even care about the funky ick and goop that covered the baby's body. All I could do was smile and nod my agreement. "He really is; he's the most precious thing I've ever seen."

"Mr. Logan? If you'll just take these scissors, you'll want to snip right in this section here between the two clamps." The nurse smiled brightly as she encouraged me to take part in the birth.

Owen's steady gray eyes were watching with what looked like pride as I took the scissors and allowed the nurse to guide me through the process. When I looked back at Owen's radiant face, it occurred to me that I hadn't even considered how gross cutting the cord had been. It had just been natural, as if I'd been meant to do it.

"You did good," Owen said softly after the nurse took the baby away for cleaning. He fumbled for my hand as a frown appeared on his face. "What should we do about that whole Tay-Sachs thing? I had no idea that Josh had a brother who died from some weird disease."

Dr. Hunt looked up from between Owen's legs. I tried not to think about what he was doing right now, other than the obvious fact that he was delivering afterbirth and cleaning up from the delivery. The look of concern on his face pushed any other thoughts from my mind. "Did you say Tay-Sachs was a possibility? I wasn't aware of that."

"That's because we weren’t aware of it either until this evening," I said in a steady tone that belied the rapid beating of my heart as I began quietly panicking.

"We can order a blood test right now. They'll be pricking his heel to do a standard panel anyway when they do his screening. We'll just need to look for the presence of the HEXA gene. It won't take long to get your answer, so let's try to hold our concerns until the test is run," Dr. Hunt said in a reassuring tone.

Owen squeezed my hand, biting his lip as he listened to the doctor’s words. "How soon will we know? Will they have an answer before I'm settled in my room?"

Dr. Hunt held up a hand. "I'm sorry, I've misled you. The answer itself won't take long, but the test can't be run for twenty-four to forty-eight hours post birth. Many of the diseases we need to test for won't show up sooner than that. I'm sorry to tell you this, because I know it means that you’ll have a tense day ahead of you, and for that, I apologize. But we do need to wait."

Owen’s eyes widened with a spark of hope. "Wait, can we test me to see if I carry the gene? If we know that answer, then my husband can figure out the statistics that might help me actually make it through the next day or so until we can test my son."

I stood up a little straighter, an odd sense of pride swelling my chest when I heard Owen refer to me as his husband. Dr. Hunt smiled gently. "Certainly, we can check your blood to see if you’re a carrier. That won't be a problem; I'll order the test as soon as we're done here."