Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
When I leave, the sky is soft gray, spring pushing through the last of winter’s chill. I drive home with the windows cracked to let the fresh air in, wind tangling my hair.
Tommy’s truck is in the driveway when I pull in, but he’s not inside. I find a note on the counter in his familiar handwriting:
Clubhouse tonight. Come when you’re ready. No rush. I love you.
I smile, tracing the words. He’s always giving me room to choose.
I take a shower, pull on a simple dress one that doesn’t hide my growing belly but doesn’t cling to it either. When I catch my reflection, I pause. There’s something in my eyes I haven’t seen in years, peace and softness.
For the first time, I look like a woman who belongs in her own life.
The clubhouse parking lot is full when I arrive. Bikes gleam under the setting sun, chrome catching the light. The sound of laughter spills out from inside — high and familiar, the kind that only happens when people are happy and unguarded.
When I step through the door, it hits me like a wave.
“Surprise!”
For a second, I just stand there blinking, because it takes my brain a moment to catch up with my heart.
Streamers in gold and pink hang from the rafters. Balloons tied to chairs. A long table covered in flowers and wrapped gifts. In the center, a cake that reads Welcome future Mrs. Oleander and baby O.
I cover my mouth, tears instantly blurring my vision.
Doll grins from across the room, her blonde hair in a bun on top of her head, wearing a glittery shirt. “Told ya she’d cry!”
Sass, Tommy’s mom, wearing her own bedazzled shirt, a soft strength in her eyes, steps forward with open arms. “Oh, sweetheart,” she greets, hugging me tight. “You didn’t think we’d let you have a baby or get married to my boy without a proper shower, did you?”
Jenni approaches, “got ya, sis.” She beams with pride. “Love you and so excited to celebrate you today.”
I can barely speak. “You did all this?”
“All of us,” Jenni shares, waving toward the crowd of women. “You’re family, honey. We take care of our own.”
Behind them, I spot familiar faces wives, girlfriends, daughters of the club. Some I’ve met, others I’ve only seen in passing. Every single one of them is smiling.
“Come sit, honey,” Sass says, guiding me to a chair decorated with ribbons. “You look pale. Bet you haven’t eaten enough.”
Before I can protest, a plate appears in front of me sandwiches, fruit, cake. Doll presses a glass of ginger ale into my hand. “No alcohol, promise. Just the fancy bubbles.”
I laugh through my tears. “You guys are too much.”
“That’s the point,” Doll says. “You deserve it all.”
The next two hours feel like something out of a dream I didn’t know I was allowed to have.
They ask about baby names. Doll swears if it really is a girl, she’s teaching her how to throw a punch before preschool. Doll isn’t convinced it’s a girl. Since Sass had four boys, she swears it’s in the Oleander water to only have boys. Since I’ve been sharing water with Tommy, it must be a boy. Sass jokes she’ll teach her how to charm her way out of chore and speeding tickets instead.
They give me gifts, tiny onesies, handmade blankets, a stuffed bear wearing a mini leather cut that says Hellion.
“This one’s from Tommy,” Sass says softly, handing me a small box.
Inside is a silver locket. I open it, expecting a picture. Instead, there’s a small piece of folded paper.
I unfold it slowly.
You saved me too. —T.
That’s all it says, and that’s all it needs to.
My tears start again, unstoppable. Doll laughs and hands me a tissue. “Hormones, honey. Get used to it.”
But it’s more than hormones. It’s gratitude. It’s love. It’s the realization that I’m not alone anymore. I’m not trapped in my past.
Later, when the laughter quiets and the music turns low, Sass sits beside me. Her presence feels like calm air after a storm.
“You okay, sweetheart?” she asks.
“I don’t even know how to explain it,” I share. “I’ve never had something like this before. People… showing up. Not because they have to, but because they want to.”
She smiles. “That’s the beauty of family. The one you’re born into, and the one you build.”
“I didn’t think I’d ever have that.”
She gives me a soft smile. “Sometimes it just takes walking through hell to see who’s waiting on the other side.”
Her words hit deep. I think of my sister, of Tommy, of these women who’ve taken me in without hesitation.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
She squeezes my hand. “You don’t have to thank us. You just have to keep standing.”
Music plays as the men begin to trickle in. A few of the women dance on the open floor with the jukebox playing old rock songs. Someone starts passing around a scrapbook — photos from weddings, babies, club barbecues. They add my name to a blank page near the back.