Chapter 168 How Many? Roman Anyone who stumbled upon me in that hallway would’ve called me pathetic. I’d left the love of my life inside, shattered and alone, under the excuse of needing air. But the truth was, my legs couldn’t take me any farther. No matter how far I tried to go, she was still the only destination my heart knew. So that’s how I ended up here—sitting outside the door to our bedroom, knees pulled up to my chest, hands clutching my head like I could squeeze the migraine out of it. I couldn’t do it. There's no way I'd take her that way. I couldn’t bring myself to touch her that way. Not her. Not my Savannah. Back then with escorts, flings, it had been mechanical. Easy. There was no emotion, no weight, no soul in the exchange. Just skin and the primal need to remind myself I was still alive. To satisfy my animalistic urges. I could treat them however I wanted because none of it mattered. But this? This was Savannah. The woman who changed me. The woman I’d sworn to protect, to cherish, to never harm. The woman who was now begging me to degrade her—to punish her because she felt she deserved pain to earn my forgiveness. I couldn’t do it. I’d rather break myself than break her again. No matter what she’d done, I would always respect her till the day I die. That's my wife. My soulmate. My best friend. The woman I wanted to grow old with. And maybe… the mother of my unborn child. That thought alone made my chest tighten until breathing hurt. There was a huge chance she might be carrying my child. A part of me. A part of us. So what the hell was I supposed to feel? Joy? Fear? Betrayal? All of it came crashing down at once. Do I celebrate that she wanted me enough to want my child growing inside her? Or do I drown in the fact that she went behind my back to do it? How do you forgive someone for that? How do you look the woman you adore in the eyes knowing she lied to you for love? God, why do things always fall apart the second I think we’ve finally made it? From where I sat, I could still hear her sobbing inside—soft, broken sounds that ripped through the silence and tore at me. Every whimper, every hiccuped breath, carved another crack in my chest. If Savannah was hurting, I was hurting too. Always have, always will. That’s the curse of loving someone with your whole damn soul—you bleed when they do. And right now, she was bleeding. Because of me. But I couldn’t shove my fears away either. If this child really existed—if that test came back positive—what if I failed it? What if I failed her? What if I became him? What if I became my father? I exhaled slowly, staring at my hands. They were shaking. My father’s hands. The thought made me sick. The same blood ran through my veins—the same temper, the same violence, the same capacity to destroy everything good. I’d spent my life proving I wasn’t him, yet here I was—outside a locked door, wondering if I’d just repeated his sins. The sins of the man who taught me everything about what not to be. He was cruel, ruthless, and destructive. He left scars on his own children that time hasn’t even begun to fade. Locked them up and forbade them from leaving or seeking independence. If I’m anything like him, then this child is already doomed. I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting the thought. No. I wasn’t my father. I couldn’t be. Savannah wouldn’t let me become like Reginald Blackwood. She saw something in me worth loving. Worth saving. And damn it, I wanted to be that man for her. For us. I ran a hand down my face, dragging in a breath that didn’t calm me at all. Her crying hadn’t stopped. It only got softer—more exhausted. She was getting weaker. I could picture her on that bed, clutching the pillow like it was the only thing holding her together. I could see her trembling shoulders, her swollen eyes, the way she whispered apologies to the darkness thinking I couldn’t hear. My heart cracked clean in two. If she was willing to go through something as traumatic as getting another abortion just to prove to me that she’s sorry—just to earn my forgiveness—then the problem wasn’t her. It was me. She shouldn’t have to mutilate her heart to convince me she loved me. That realization hit me like a freight train. She’s not the enemy. The enemy is the silence between us. The fear. The mistrust. And the ghost of my own past still haunts every corner of what we’ve built. I leaned my head back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling until the sting behind my eyes blurred everything. Savannah wanted to be selfish for once. She wanted something purely hers—to love and keep and nurture. And she went about it the wrong way, yes, but she only did it because she wanted us. She wanted me. She wanted to feel like she belonged to something unbreakable. And maybe… maybe that wasn’t a crime. Maybe that was love in its most desperate, purest, human form. And for the first time in hours, I found clarity. I didn’t want her to end it. I didn’t want her to destroy something that might already be part of us. I wanted to face it with her. I wanted to be there for every heartbeat, every flutter, every moment that proved we’d survived everything just to get here. I wanted her. Always her and everything that was her. I pushed myself up from the floor. My knees ached, but I barely felt it. Lizzie had probably gone to bed by now, though I made a mental note to apologize in the morning for the disturbance. But for now, there was only one person who mattered. The house was quiet except for the sound of Savannah’s quiet sobs on the other side of the door. I reached for the handle and turned it slowly. The door creaked open. She froze. Her cries stopped instantly, her head snapping up from where she lay curled on the edge of the bed. Her cheeks were blotchy, eyes swollen, hair messy around her face. Even like that—broken, trembling—she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Casually taking my breath away while wearing nothing beneath those covers. “Roman?” she whispered, like she didn’t trust her own eyes. I didn’t answer. I just walked toward her quickly and pulled her into my arms. She stiffened for a second, probably too stunned to react. Then she melted against me, clutching my shirt like it was her only anchor. Her sobs started again, muffled against my chest. “I'm sorry…” I kissed the top of her head, whispering against her hair. “How many?” She stilled. Slowly pulled back to look at me. Her lips parted, confused. “I—I don’t understand…”“How many children do you want, my love?” I repeated, clearer this time, my thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped down her cheek. Her eyes widened, glimmering with disbelief. She shook her head quickly, panicked. “None. I don’t want any kids anymore. I just want you. If it’s positive, I’ll—I’ll get rid of it first thing in the morning. Just give me a little more time. I promise—” “Stop,” I said softly, pressing my forehead to hers. “Tell me the truth, baby.” Her bottom lip trembled. Tears welled again. “I want four,” she whispered, and then the words came rushing out, broken and desperate. “I want four children, Roman. I want to have your children. I want to see them with your eyes and your smile and your stubbornness. I want to raise a family with you. I know I went about it the wrong way but—” She choked on a sob. “I just wanted us to have something good.” Her voice broke on that last word, and something inside me cracked open too. The world tilted. For a long second, I couldn’t speak. My throat closed around everything I wanted to say. Then I pressed my forehead to hers and let out a shaky laugh that sounded too close to crying. I cupped her face, forcing her to look at me. “Then we’ll have four.” I whispered. “I’ll give you anything you want.” Her eyes widened, disbelief flooding them. “We’ll have as many kids as you want,” I said. “If that’s what you want, Savannah, then that’s what we’ll do.” She gasped like I’d just told her the world was hers. “Roman…” “It would be an honor,” I murmured, brushing my thumb along her jaw, “to have you as the mother of my children.” That did it. She broke again—this time not from sadness, but relief. She threw her arms around my neck, sobbing against my shoulder, whispering thank you over and over until her words became incoherent. I held her tighter, letting her feel the steady beat of my heart against hers. “I love you,” I whispered. “And I’ll never let you doubt that again.” She pulled back, still crying but smiling through it. That smile—the same one that ruined me years ago—lit something fierce inside my chest. “From now on,” I said, wiping her tears with the edge of my thumb, “we’re trying for a baby. And we’re trying hard.”Her breath hitched. A soft, broken laugh escaped her lips. “You’re serious?” I nodded. “Dead serious. We'll buy a bigger house. Find somewhere with enough space for the kids.” She nodded. Her hands trembled as she cupped my face, her fingers tracing over my jaw like she needed to make sure I was real. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you, Roman. I love you so much.” “I know,” I murmured. “And I love you more.” I kissed her then—slow, deep, tasting salt and hope and everything we’d nearly lost. She clung to me, her fingers fisting in my shirt, pulling me closer like she couldn’t get enough. When we finally broke apart, her eyes searched mine. “What now?” she asked softly. “Now,” I said, brushing her hair behind her ear, “you lie back for me, my love. And let me make you feel the way you deserve. No guilt. No shame. Just us.” She swallowed, nodding. “Roman…” I kissed her again, whispering against her lips, “Let me pleasure you, Savannah. Let me show you how much I want this—how much I want you.” Her breath caught, trembling. “Okay.”“Let’s make the most beautiful babies the world has ever seen,” I said, my voice low and reverent. She smiled through the tears. “Then don’t stop trying, Mr. Blackwood.” And with that, the last of the pain between us burned away—replaced by something purer, stronger, eternal. Love. Because no matter what we’d done, no matter what we’d lost, Savannah and I always found our way back to each other. Always.