Catherine quietly thought to herself that in the future, she wanted to have more children—at least two. Neither she nor Bert had truly grown up with the warmth of a complete family. She wanted to build their ho with care, so their children could grow up surrounded by love, with laughter filling the house, and when they were grown, still be able to gather together in joy.
After dinner and fruit, everyone played cards for a while before heading their separate ways. Morrison and Dave had also bought villas nearby, so since it was already late, no one returned to the city—they all stayed at their own places.
Renata, because of her age, had already gone upstairs to rest while they were still playing.
When everyone had left, Catherine was about to go to the kitchen to tidy up, but Bert suddenly lifted her into his arms and carried her straight toward their bedroom upstairs.
How could she not understand his aning? She whispered,
"We haven’t showered yet..."
Bert smiled.
"We’ll shower together..."
Her face flushed as she resisted.
"No, separately..."
She truly couldn’t handle bathing together—because once it started, he would never behave himself. For her, that kind of situation was far too overwhelming, leaving her feeling completely drained every ti.
It was exhausting, and far too intense.
Yet he seed to enjoy it endlessly, always asking to shower together. She usually tried to escape, but tonight, it seed there was no avoiding it.
From the bathroom to the bed, perhaps because they had gone more than a week without being intimate, or perhaps because there was no need to worry about precautions, she felt his movents grow deeper and more demanding—until, in the end, she could only beg him to slow down.
After the intense afterglow faded, Bert leaned against the headboard and pulled Catherine into his arms. His large hand brushed through her soft hair again and again, and even his voice seed to soften with the mont.
"I’ve already chosen a na for our child."
Catherine paused. "...Huh?"
Wasn’t he thinking too far ahead? They weren’t even married yet, and who knew when they would actually have children? He had already picked a na—without even knowing whether it would be a boy or a girl.
Still, curiosity won out.
"What is it?"
Bert spoke two words softly.
"Lucian Washington."
"Lucian?" Catherine repeated, turning the na over in her mind.
Bert gently lifted her chin, gazing at her with a look so tender and devoted it made her breath catch.
"It cos from light," he said softly. "Soone born into it, surrounded by it."
Perhaps it was his eyes, or perhaps it was simply how beautiful the na sounded when he spoke it, but warmth blood in Catherine’s chest all at once. What had felt absurd a mont ago—naming a child so early—suddenly felt wonderful.
"It sounds a little gentle," she said quietly. "What if it’s a boy?"
Bert had clearly already thought it through.
"Then it’s even better," he replied, his voice calm and certain.
"A boy, or a girl—I want our child to grow up bathed in light and warmth, never having to endure what we did."
Tears spilled from Catherine’s eyes, hot drops falling onto Bert’s chest. At that mont, because of the care he showed for her and for their future child, she knew she would never again doubt his loyalty—or fear that he might have another woman outside their ho.
He cherished everything they shared: her, their family, their future.
How could a man like this ever betray them?
And she would never betray him either.
The wounds a broken family left on a child were far too deep. She would never allow her own children to endure such pain.
She buried her face against his chest, crying—yet these were tears of happiness, of contentnt and relief. Suddenly, she found herself longing to have a child with him as soon as possible, so that their baby could bear such a beautiful na, filled with such warmth and aning.
Bert reached for a tissue from the nightstand and asked softly,
"Do you like the na?"
"It’s wonderful—really wonderful."
Catherine wiped away her tears, smiled at him, and nodded firmly.
"Let’s have a baby soon."
Bert laughed.
"Coming from a woman, isn’t that a little too bold?"
She didn’t know where the courage ca from, but she turned and climbed on top of him.
"Too bad—you can’t return . You chose yourself."
Then she leaned down and kissed his beautiful lips.
Bert was more than happy to accept her initiative. He wrapped his arms around her smooth body, holding her tightly as their lips and tongues tangled once more.
Late that night, after Catherine had fallen into a deep sleep, Bert picked up his phone and stepped out onto the balcony connected to their bedroom to call his mother. Because of the ti difference, it was dayti in the United States—perfect for a call.
As soon as he placed the call, Bert’s mother imdiately understood his intention. Before he could even speak, she said first,
"When will you bring her over? I can make preparations in advance."
That single sentence revealed her attitude.
Bert felt a surge of relief, and for the first ti in his life, he felt a trace of gratitude toward his emotionally distant mother. For him, marrying the woman he loved was the most important decision of his life. If his mother had continued to make things difficult for him over this, he would likely have regarded her as a stranger for the rest of his days.
Now that she had chosen to accept Catherine so readily, the coldness in his heart thawed just a little.
"I’ll let you know once the schedule is set."
After that, he added in a low voice,
"Thank you."
Such a gentle "thank you," or such a calm exchange, might be common in other families. But between them, it was rare.
After he said it, his mother fell silent on the other end of the line. She could probably sense the shift in her son’s attitude. Perhaps she had never imagined that one day, her relationship with him would soften because of another woman.
In truth, Bert’s mother had thought long and hard about whether to accept Catherine as her future daughter-in-law.
First, her son was no longer young. If she rejected Catherine and kept delaying, he might truly end up alone for the rest of his life. No mother would want to see her child grow old in loneliness.
Second, she knew her son’s temperant better than anyone—eccentric, stubborn, and difficult to communicate with. Even if she objected, he would still go through with the marriage on his own terms.
And he was not the kind of man with chaotic relationships, nor soone who would casually choose a life partner. Since he had made this decision at his age, it ant he was truly serious.
Third, after a serious illness a few years ago, she had begun to see many things more lightly—especially material pursuits. She was no longer as obsessed with status and wealth as she had been in her youth. Being alive was already enough; there was no need to cling so tightly to empty desires.
If this had happened in the past—if she had learned that her son was with such an ordinary woman—she would have opposed it fiercely and stopped at nothing to break them apart.
But now, she only wanted him to be happy.
Their relationship had already grown distant; why provoke his resentnt further?
"There’s no need to prepare anything in particular," Bert said quietly. "She’s very easy to get along with."
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