summer nights in astoria, oregon. a dewy glisten of rain radiated off the individual blades of grass with a squished crunch with every foot that impressed into the ground. natural vivid hues of icy violet and burnt orange captured the night sky as it bled through the peeks of holes clouds. a recurring symptom of the home state’s regularly overcast and cloudy atmosphere. within the confines of a juvenile summer camp, was the couple who seemingly could cite credit to camp eagle ridge for the plethora of history that inhabited inside it. july fourth had never gone down without a fight, etching another scorn of trauma into the history book of keira and matteo’s story. each annual turn of the clock was a reminder of stoic darkness. however, by the grace of the universe, the metaphorical light at the end of the trenched tunnel seemed to be in arms reach. no tragedy, no tears, no loss, no fear. so if that were the case, the current situation in which matty found himself in didn’t add up to someone free of the stress of what this day used to represent. the sentimental reflection of what each fourth of july signified seemed to be at the fore front of his acute thoughts. within the stillness, the counselor’s head was boggled with adrenaline infused scatter. his sunburnt — rosy cheeks and a blushed nose — stubble lined features furrowed into a contortion of bewilderment. was he half comatose, close to edging off to the next phase of rem sleep? of course. but only half. the other chunk of his conscience battled into overdrive for whatever random reason. suddenly, the creme fluffy coat of their first of two dogs bristled against the tossed hand that hung from the arch of the bed frame mattress, fingertips furling along the soft fur. casper’s ears pricked as matteo let out a disgruntled sigh, alerting him to rest at the man’s side of the bed. once the samoyed was settled, the ex skaters body tossed onto his other side, almond eyes wide open as he studied his wife that lay next to him. how his stomach lurched every time he was reminded of how lucky he was to love someone as much as the petite pocket-sized girl he’d grown up with side by side. “honey…” slipped from a whisper that melted off his beige pink borders, as if involuntarily. if there was any option of silencing his qualms, it was his wife. and sadly, as much as he wished to not wake her from her slumber, a part of him wistfully hoped she had heard his voice.
so it's to say keira rosati has found herself with a secret. that no one, not even her husband, knew about. truthfully, the blonde was anxious. when wasn't she was the real question. so for the past few days she had mulling over the words her doctor had told her. pregnant. they had always talked about having another child, but there was always so much uncertainty in all of it. lennon, their rainbow baby, the most adventurous, sweetest, curious, smartest, boy you could ever know. he was everything they could've ever dreamed of and more. if anyone would be the best big brother in the world, it would be their lenny. all the excitement and anxiety had been bubbling, her trying her hardest to portray that everything was fine to their staff, to her husband. a lot of people depended on her, ever since the camp that had always been theirs, had officially became theirs years back. she was fine. she was just trying to find a way to tell matteo. a lot harder than it looked, clearly. a light sleeper to her core for years, she had to be, her eyes flutter open as if on cue. oh, her ruggedly handsome husband. she'd never get tired of looking at him. "i'm pregnant," the woman breathed out, the words falling so fast, she could hardly register or stop them. jesus, keira, you have the subtlety of a hand grenade. "surprise?"