The next seven months seem to pass us by at light speed.

Tammy and I decided to stay in Sacramento until the trial concluded, putting off having to make a decision about where to go and what to do next. This decision required a tense phone call to her parents, who evidently had had no idea she’d left San Francisco at all. I went into the hallway of the hotel where we’d taken a long-term reservation while she talked to them, and when I came back into the room, she was crying and laughing at the same time, saying “I love you” over and over into the phone. Pregnancy hormones had her pretty emotional in those early days, but then again, I couldn’t explain it all away with the pregnancy. It was a pretty emotional time for me, too.

As it turned out, we didn’t have to stay nearly as long as we’d anticipated. The trial concluded quickly, and Xavier and Elias both received long prison sentences—they won’t be out for decades, and even then, only if their parole comes through. In my opinion, they’ll both need radical personality makeovers to convince anyone they’ve reformed.

Either way, we’ve decided to put that chapter of our lives behind us.

Most of the other accomplices got shorter sentences. Tammy said she felt that was appropriate. They had, on some level, been victimized, too. Some of them, she says, were even her friends on the ranch. She doesn’t especially want to see bad things happen to them.

I wasn’t about to argue. She has the right to decide how we feel about all that, in my opinion. I’m just glad we were able to put it behind us so quickly.

The night of the conviction, after we got out of court, we went to a nice Italian restaurant. Tammy’s appetite was always strong in the evenings then, so we each ordered two entrees and shared all four of them between us, sampling everything. It felt a little strange to be celebrating a verdict that had sent two people to jail for the bulk of their remaining lives, but there were other things to celebrate. We toasted—with sparkling cider—to the joy of our newly formed official relationship, my release from the hospital, and our unborn children.

Life was full of hope and possibility.

But there were a lot of decisions to make. We couldn’t just stay in Sacramento forever—we had a future to plan. I avoided bringing up the subject all through dinner, afraid to taint the mood with stressful talk. We could just have fun that night and make plans in the morning.

I shouldn’t have worried. My biggest concern—where we were going to live—turned out to be a non-issue. As Tammy quickly pointed out, I had seen her apartment, and it was no place to raise twins. It was just too small. As heartbroken as she knew her parents would be that she was moving away so soon after re-entering their lives, it just made the most sense for her to move in with me.

I had to admit, I was delighted. I hadn’t relished the idea of moving away from my family, friends, and hometown. I would have done it for her, of course, but Tammy joining me in San Diego was the icing on the perfect cake my life had become. Besides, I love my house. It’s a Spanish Colonial-style, bought during my time in the Navy, and has three bedrooms—plenty of room for the whole family.

My family helped us move Tammy in. They were a little surprised that I went to Sacramento to give quick testimony in a years-old case and came back with a pregnant girlfriend, but I have to give them credit. For the most part, they took it in stride. My mother baked tons of food and brought it over, making sure to ask Tammy what her current pregnancy cravings were. She was also quick to give us boxes of my old baby things—books, clothes, even a crib.

I could tell that Mom liked Tammy. She’s always polite, but in the past when she hasn’t liked a girlfriend of mine, there’s been a reserved air about her that was easy for me to pick up on. With Tammy, there was none of that.

Dad took to Tammy quickly, too, mostly because, as it turns out, they’re both excellent at chess. I’d never had the chance to learn that about her, but it came as no real shock. I always knew she was smart. Within weeks, she and Dad had a standing chess date on Thursday nights, and they began keeping a running tally of their wins and losses. Eight months later, they’re still fairly even, but they’re both sure they’re just about to pull into the lead.

My sister Courtney loved Tammy from the moment they met, and took it upon herself to be her unofficial San Diego tour guide. She took Tammy to museums, restaurants, and various local points of interest, making sure to highlight which areas were mobbed by tourists and which hidden gems only locals knew about.

Tammy quickly fell in love with both Courtney and the town itself. The girls are practically best friends now, getting together for regular shopping trips and movie nights, and Tammy frequently comments on how nice it is to live in such a peaceful, relaxed city. As the days go by, I can see her establishing more and more routines and becoming more and more comfortable with her new life here, and I can’t question that we made the right choice when we decided to make San Diego our permanent home.

The first thing I did was retire from the Navy. That’s probably been the hardest part of all this, for me, the only thing that wasn’t a pure blessing. But the dangerous missions I was so often sent on with the SEALs just aren’t compatible with family life. I can’t imagine infiltrating a cult like Pyrite Ranch, possibly for weeks at a time, all the while knowing that Tammy and our children are at home worrying about me.

The service accepted my decision. But retiring left me with a lot of free time and no income. I was a civilian for the first time in my adult life—what would I do for money?

As usual, Tammy had the answer. She told me to examine my skill set and think about what made me happiest. Most of my skills are physical, and my passion is in the area of protecting people. I suggested looking for work as a bodyguard, but she had a better idea—why not teach self-defense?

There’s a martial arts studio near our house that was looking to rent out space three nights a week. I went in and spoke to the owner, and that very night, I found myself putting up a website advertising classes. Now, I teach defensive techniques to women, empowering them to protect themselves against attackers. It’s a great feeling, and it doesn’t put me or my family at risk.

Tammy, meanwhile, found short-term work at a veterinary clinic after a glowing letter of referral from her employer in San Francisco. It turned out, however, that she wasn’t in a job that satisfied her in a long-term way—after a few weeks, I started to notice that she was coming home sad every night. It was too heartbreaking, she said, seeing sick animals every day, even if she was helping to make them better a lot of the time. The worst part of it was that she couldn’t explain, couldn’t help them understand why they were suffering.

And that conversation turned a key in my mind. Tammy is a wonderful communicator, and she has experience in overcoming trauma. I encouraged her to go back to school and become a certified therapist so that she could help people who have been through ordeals similar to her own. Tammy loved the idea and registered for classes immediately. She’s still working at the clinic until she finishes her certification, but her mood is greatly improved by the fact that it’s temporary and part of her progress toward a larger goal.

We’re not rich; our career choices aren’t glamorous, and they don’t bring in a large income. But it’s enough to get by. Enough that we can start two savings accounts—one for each of the children—and put a little bit away each month. Every time I add to the accounts, I think about the future I hope to give them, and how excited I am to meet them. It seems like the time is going by so fast, but at the same time, it can’t get here fast enough.

We’re spending this weekend getting the nursery ready for the twins’ arrival—or, rather, I am. Tammy is so big now that I can’t see how she walks without tipping over. For the most part, she doesn’t. Her doctor has insisted that she stay as stationary as possible.

It’s hard for her, I know. Tammy longs to be part of things. She isn’t enjoying sitting in the comfortable recliner her parents bought us for when the babies arrive. She wants to be up on the ladder, helping me apply decals of cartoon characters to the walls.

“Is it even?” I ask her.

“Bring the left side down a bit—there.” She shifts in her chair, resettling herself. “They’re really active today.”

“Oh yeah? They hurting you?”

“No, no, it isn’t bad. It’s kind of cool. Do you want to feel?”

She lifts her shirt enough to expose her enormous belly. I climb down from the ladder and rest a hand on it, and sure enough, they’re rolling around, doing somersaults or something. As I watch, her skin stretches a little, a baby’s foot pushing against her from inside.

She presses it back with her hand, gently. “Settle down.”

“We still have to finish baby-proofing,” I say, surveying the nursery. It’s mostly finished, and I think I’m happy with it. There’s a small bookshelf with a variety of baby books, including some of our childhood favorites and some that are more modern. There’s a shelf of stuffed animals that I know won’t remain in their current unblemished condition for long. We decided on the single crib for now—the doctor said that would be fine until they started rolling over.

I feel a pleasant little shiver inside at the thought. Soon, my children will be rolling over. Soon, they’ll be hitting all kinds of exciting new milestones, growing up together before my eyes.

Tammy closes her eyes. “Baby-proofing. It’s the one chapter of the pregnancy book I can’t seem to focus on. All the other chapters are about spending time with your baby and pampering yourself and things that sound great, and then there’s that one, about a bunch of household chores.”

I laugh. “I’ll take care of it, don’t worry. I don’t want you getting off that recliner, anyway. Do you need more tea?”

“Maybe a soda?”

“Yeah, we could do that.”

I take the empty tea mug into the kitchen and exchange it for two cans of soda. Then, because I’ve worked up an appetite and because I know Tammy will be let down if I come back without some kind of snack, I cut up an apple and grab the tub of caramel dip we keep in the fridge.

She lights up when she sees it. “I’ve developed such a sweet tooth, it’s ridiculous.”

“I think it’s because of your time on the ranch,” I tell her. “Once you left and ate your first jelly donut or whatever, your body realized what it had been missing and went into overcompensation mode. Since then, you’ve been eating all the sugar you can get your hands on, in case your life brings you another shortage.”

She nods seriously. “That sounds like totally real science.”

“Yeah, it’s top-secret sugar addiction science that only the Navy knows.”

“I’m going to call them and tell them you told me.”

I laugh and wipe the apple juice from my fingers on my work pants. “Can you stand? I ask her. “Let’s take this party into the bedroom. We’re done in here for now, anyway, and we should work on packing your hospital bag.”

Tammy rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “You know we aren’t going to need that for weeks.”

“I know,” I say. “But it’ll be nice to check it off the list.”

I have to help her to her feet. Getting up and down are especially tough for her these days, because it’s hard for her to keep her balance while shifting her weight. Once she’s up, she waddles into our bedroom, where she eases herself down on the bed. I arrange the pillows around her the way she likes, making sure she’s adequately propped up, before pulling her duffel bag down from the closet.

“What do we need?” I ask.

She gives me a list of specific clothing items she wants with her, along with a few luxuries. A blanket her grandmother knitted and gave to her mother when she was born is on the list. Her headphones, so she can listen to the music playlist she’s made and stored on her phone. A couple of books. Her nightshirt and bathrobe, fuzzy slippers, and a toiletry kit. Finally, we have everything on the list assembled.

“Wait a minute,” Tammy says, just as I’m about to start celebrating actually getting something done. “We aren’t finished here.”

“We’re not? You said that was everything.”

“It’s everything for me. What about you?”

“What about me?” I ask. “I’m not going to have a baby.”

“You’re going to the hospital,” she prompts me. “The pregnancy book says it’s a good idea for you to have a bag packed with everything you’ll need, so you don’t have to keep running back home to get stuff.”

“What kind of things does the book say I need?” I haven’t even thought about this.

“I don’t know,” she admits. “I guess just whatever you feel like you’ll need to keep yourself entertained. It might be really boring for long stretches of time. In fact—”

She stops talking.

I’m not facing her. I’m looking at the bag I’ve just finished zipping up. But I know her well enough that I can hear the sudden tension in her silence, and I turn to her, alarmed.

“Tammy? What is it?”

Her eyes are closed tight, hand pressed to her midsection.

“Are you okay?” I ask, frantic now.

“I think I’m in labor.”