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His phone vibrates and Jon couldn’t help the smile that passes on his face.

Sansa: Bring home the bacon, honey ;)

Jon: Well, payday’s not until Friday but you know I will ;)

Jon can’t wink. But at least he can give the illusion that he can. It's useless though because Sansa knows him too well, and he knows he can’t fool her.)

When he checks his phone again, Jon surprised himself with the laugh that came out of him as he reads the succession of texts from his wife. 

Sansa: No I mean, I need you to bring home a bacon cheeseburger, onion rings, and a milkshake.

Sansa: The greasier the better.

Sansa: Hurry plssss <3

Jon: Just finishing up here and I’ll get you your greasy burger :)

Sansa: You’re the best. Your wife and child thank you. 

Sansa: Luv u 

Jon: Love you too. I’ll be home soon, babe.

It’s been six months since they found out Sansa’s pregnant, and she’s nearing the end of her seventh month. They were both so careful with this pregnancy, but every time they met with their obstetrician they never failed to be surprised by how easy this pregnancy is. Doctor Mordane has been with them from the very beginning, she knows their history - from their infertility issues, to the miscarriages, to Ricky. 

“There’s no need to worry, honestly. Your baby girl’s doing really well.” The kindly doctor tells them. She understands their concern, and wouldn’t dare call them paranoid after everything they've gone through. “We can’t help it Doctor Mordane,” Sansa replies. She fidgets with her fingers in an attempt to stave of her nerves. “After what's happened, we just can’t help but think that it’s too good to be true.”

“Sometimes, it feels like we’re just waiting for the other shoe to drop.” Jon says from behind Sansa, his hand warm on her shoulder.

“Or waiting for the alarm to go off and it was all just a dream.” She says, fiddling some red strands that have come loose from her braid. 

Doctor Mordane’s face is warm when she turns to them after she places the ultrasound machine back in its place. “I know dear,” she is full of empathy, this doctor of theirs. Sansa thinks they were lucky enough to have found someone who genuinely placed their patient’s well-being above their own, and even went beyond what is required of them as a physician. Sansa never expected her doctor to attend Ricky’s funeral service, but found that at the time, she was grateful for the older woman’s presence.

“But I assure you, your baby is healthy and developing accordingly.” Doctor Mordane pats Sansa’s hands as she says this. “Now, I just want you to continue taking in your vitamins. The workout routine you’ve been doing before you got pregnant could be a little lighter, just so we stay on the safe side.” She goes back to sit behind her desk. “You’re pretty good with your diet so I don’t need to worry about anything there. Now, I’ll see you both back in a month for your next check-up.” She smiles at them, and Sansa and Jon are just washed over with gratitude for their doctor.

There are days when Jon still has a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that in two months time, their baby girl will join them. He catches himself daydreaming of a little girl with blue eyes and dimpled cheeks giving a grin as toothy as the one her older brother used to give. (And if Jon were to be completely honest with himself, sometimes he feels just a little bit guilty for being so excited about their new baby. He feels like he’s replacing Ricky by welcoming this new baby into their lives.

He hasn’t mentioned anything to Sansa.

He’s not sure if he will.)

He couldn’t, Jon thinks. It seems like a dark cloud has finally left his wife and he gets to see her smiling again. Gets to hear her unbridled joy and laughter again. That time dealing with their grief over Ricky’s death nearly tore them apart. But Jon is nothing but determined that he’ll do every single thing that he can so that Sansa will just keep on smiling.

He doesn’t push the thought of Ricky away, no. Jon doesn’t think he could ever be at the point where he won’t miss his son. But he tries to compartmentalize. So as he packs his things up, shuts down his computer, and switches off the light in his office, he makes the mental note to get Sansa a slice of lemon cheesecake on top of her cravings just because he could.


Jon huffed out an amused laugh when Sansa greeted him with an excited squeal, her arms extended to grab at the paper bag littered with grease spots in his hands. When Sansa gasped out an “Oh Jon,” he knows that she’s found the slice of lemon cheesecake stashed beneath the burgers. In a show of unusual smugness, Jon jutted his chin out and pouted his lips to indicate that he wished to be rewarded for being the best husband - for this moment at least.

The kiss she gives him is made sweeter by the upturning of her lips he feels pressed against his. Jon places one of his hands on the back of her neck to keep her from breaking away too soon, and the other on the swell of her belly, his thumb a soothing circle on it. He grins at the whimper that escapes from her when he bites her plumped up bottom lip, gives it one last peck before giving Sansa’s belly a kiss in greeting to their baby girl.

“It’s a good thing you’re not out yet, kid. I’m sure you’d be rolling your eyes at your mom and I just for that.” He’s crouched down low so that he’s at eye level with Sansa’s waist, his warm hands smooth over his wife’s dress. Jon feels her eyes on him, and as he stands upright once more, Sansa’s smooth hand finds its way to his cheek.

“Hi,” she whispers softly, her eyes a pool of joy Jon means to drown himself in. 

“Hi,” he whispers back, taking in the contentment on her face framed by wisps of hair that have fallen from her pigtails.

He leans into her touch then, twisting his head so he can drop a kiss on her palm, holding her hand close to his face. It’s a tender moment between husband and wife, something that happens with increasing frequency since they visited Ricky’s grave and actual healing started to take place. A healing, Jon knows, that happened both to each other separately, as well to them as a couple.

Ghost’s head butting into his leg breaks the quiet between them. “Alright you mutt,” Jon bumps the albino husky on his snout. “Let’s get you some food before you steal ours.” He kisses Sansa on the cheek before he walks towards where they keep Ghost’s food. 

“I’ll set the table for us,” Sansa calls after him, the giddiness is back in her voice at the thought of getting to tuck into their burgers. She waddles to the kitchen, setting the brown bag down on the counter to get the plates from the shelf. She’s putting the glasses of water down next to their plates when she feels Jon’s arms around her, and his nose behind her ear traveling low to where her jaw meets her neck before placing a nip and a kiss on the juncture of her shoulders. Sansa nearly purrs at Jon’s attentions, raising her arm and reaching back to keep his head where it is, unwilling as she is to stop him. They both know where Jon’s actions are headed, and they both want it, both accepting of the pleasure that will come from it.

They had to re-acquaint themselves with being physically intimate with each other after everything that’s happened. It was awkward at first, and slightly frustrating for the both of them especially when they know what it’s like to be with each other. But their separate sorrow kept them from fully committing. As if they couldn’t bring themselves to have that moment of connection, of momentary peace and happiness. A twisted sort of self-flagellation to remind themselves that they always need to remember their boy.

Thank God they got over it.

But also, thank God for pregnancy hormones and getting horny without having to worry about anything else.

When Sansa feels Jon’s hands slide up her sides and cups her breasts, she releases a mewl. She rests her head on his shoulder evidently giving him more access to explore. Jon worries a sensitive spot and laves it with his tongue, punctuating it with an open mouthed kiss. As he tilts her head to face him, Sansa sees his dark eyes, half-lidded with desire, and she feels warmth that starts to gather in her belly. So she kisses him to chase that feeling, add fuel to the ever growing fire. And when Jon flushes himself to her back, she grinds against him reflexively.

“Did you give Ghost water with his food?” She breathes to him, her hands guiding his in kneading her breast. (They both know he doesn’t need to be told how to touch her, but it gives her something to do as she strings a sentence together.) She gets a hum in response, busy as he is in thumbing her nipples into pebbles. Sansa’s wearing a bra, but somehow that’s not a barrier for her husband.

“Can you go check on him to see if he’s done,” Her breath hitches when Jon’s right hand lets go of her breast and instead travels up the inside of her thighs. They haven’t even really done anything but Sansa knows she’s wet. “And let h-him out in the y-yard. Jon-!” Her voice rises in pitch when she felt him push her underwear to the side and stroke her, gathering moisture and circling her nub. 

She writhes in his arms, hips undulating and seeking more contact from his fingers. “Baby come on,” There are more air than words coming from her now, but she perseveres to get her point across because she does not want their dog to disturb them for a ‘yard break’ when things get good. She doesn’t think he’s heard her when his fingers dip into her, massaging her inner walls for a bit, before sliding back out. Sansa doesn’t know if the moan she lets out is done in relief or in frustration. When she sees Jon lick the fingers that were just in her, she decides it’s definitely frustration.

“Sorry babe, I just wanted to get a taste.” His voice is all husky like he drank from a tumbler of whisky, a growl that if anything, gets Sansa even more bothered. She turns then in his arms to slip her tongue in his mouth while her hand gives his crotch a squeeze. 

She smirks when he grunts at her touch.

“Hurry up and do as you’re told, Jon,” She kisses the side of his mouth. “So you can have your dinner in bed.” She blinks when he leaves in a blurr, shouting after Ghost to hurry up with his food and get to the yard. Jon hears Sansa’s peals of laughter trail after him, and he gives a goofy smile back. She’s still laughing when he gets back inside the house, dropping pieces of her clothing as she heads to their room.

And when he loves her with his mouth, his fingers not far behind and his cock the perfect punctuation mark, her cries are of an entirely different kind. 

They’re still breathing harshly, breaths coming out in pants that makes their slick bodies even more moist, when she tells him she’s made a list. “A list?” Jon asks her, his fingers trailing up and down her arm. “Yeah, of things we’ll need for the new baby?” She looks up at him from the cradle of his shoulders, her index reaching up to twirl a curl around and tug it lightly. She can’t stop touching him. He can’t stop touching her in return.

“We can go on Saturday, my meeting got cancelled so I can spend the day with you.” She kisses his chest for his words, excited that they were going to be together for this little errand.

“I can’t wait.” 

“Neither can I.” 

They sleep, satiated and optimistic.


“What do you think of this?” Sansa holds up a blanket to show him one with tiny sunflowers embroidered on each corner. 

They’ve been shopping for the past hour, coming in and out of different baby shops. They're not even halfway through Sansa’s list and Jon, who would be craving to be at home with a cold beer by now, has obediently followed his wife through every store. But just like any long-suffering husband who would do anything for his wife, he sucks it up and chooses to enjoy her company instead. She needs this, he thinks. We both do

He smiles at her, the one where his eyes crinkle at the sides, because she’s adorable, his wife. “It looks good Sans. Dainty.” She gives him a bright smile in return and places the blanket in the shopping bag he holds for her. They also get two sets of washable cloth diapers with different patterns on it. Jon had initially wrinkled his nose when Sansa said she wanted to get washable cloth diapers, remembering Ricky and just how many times a day he needed to be changed. The prospect of not only having to change their newborn but having to wash her diaper too wasn’t appealing at all.

But Sansa gave a convincing argument that it would save them a lot of money (one they were still trying to recover from the mountain of hospital bills they incurred when their boy got sick). “Plus, it’ll keep more trash from ending in the landfill, Jon.” She tells him, well, implored. Sansa watched and cried over the video of a sea turtle with the straw lodged in its nostrils. The video gutted her and has since then been more intentional with the wastes that they produced.

They go through the rest of the list soon enough. They decide to get a new crib, having given Arya Ricky’s old one, not seeing the use for it anymore then. And to be honest, Jon and Sansa are glad for it. They didn’t want another reminder of their son encroaching on the birth of their daughter. He already lives in their minds and memories all day long. They just wanted a clean slate for their baby girl.

It’s a hump that they’ve had to overcome (and if Jon’s being honest, he’s not sure they have), associating things with their boy’s memory. Well, associating Ricky with everything really and trying their hardest not to give into the voice that tells them they failed as parents.

Are they bad parents?

Jon thinks he and Sansa don’t have the heart to hear the truth to that.

“Let’s go get lunch,” Sansa’s voice pulls him out of his head, and he moves to get the shopping bags from her. He throws his arm on her shoulder and drops a kiss on her head. “Let’s. What’re you in the mood for?” She snuggles into his side, putting her own arm around his waist. The little hum she makes lets Jon knows that she’s thinking well and hard on this decision, and it’s such a mundane task compared to all the other ones they’ve had to face in the last couple of years that he feels his heart clench a little.

“I think I want to get some noodles.” She adjusts her overalls, pulling the hem where it had ridden up because of the bulge of her belly. They've spent a few hours on their feet now, and not for the first time, Sansa is thankful her cankles still fit in her sneakers. “Let’s go get some noodles then,” Jon replies, oblivious to his wife’s fidgeting. Sansa kisses his bearded cheek in appreciation. 

“Are you excited for brunch with Catelyn when she gets back?” Jon asks, tugging at the hoop of her earring lightly to get her attention. His mother-in-law had gone with Ned to visit Robert, post wife number 4. They were staying at his place for a while but assured Sansa that they'll both be back before she's due. “That's in a few weeks from now, right?”

“Yes and no,” she whispers back and that gets his attention. Because for as long as he’s known his wife, Sansa has always been close with her mother. “Something wrong?” he asks her as he opens the door to the ramen house they picked. They wait to be seated by the maitre’d before Sansa replies.

“It’s just, she’s always had this ability to see right through me, you know?” She tells him, taking a sip of her water to ease how dry her throat has suddenly gotten.

Jon tilts his head in consideration of what she's said. 

“Is there something for her to discover?” He asks her, curiosity and worry seeping into his voice. 

Yes! Sansa wants to scream it. She has been so happy and content that when her mind wanders to Ricky, the guilt she instantaneously feels robs her of her breath. It’s like her mind sabotages whatever sliver of happiness she and Jon have managed to cultivate. 

It is a guilt that grips her heart, squeezes it and lets it go until it starts all over again. 

She opens her mouth to speak. 

Their server coming to take their orders saves her from being forthcoming. 


The entire morning, Sansa thinks, was tense beyond reason. She never really had any problems talking to her mom, but all throughout brunch, Sansa was just fielding off questions about the pregnancy and nesting. It's not that she doesn't want to do it. She does. And at thirty-one weeks pregnant, Sansa knows she hasn't given herself enough time to work on it. Besides, she can't blame her mother for asking. Catelyn Stark is an established interior designer and homemaker in their community. Of course she'll ask about how the room’s going. 

And so after a morning of stilted conversations and redirected answers, they drove back to Jon and Sansa’s house in silence.

She hangs her keys by the foyer, her mother behind her, when she heads to the kitchen. 

“Would you like some juice, mom?” she asks, her back facing the archway to the kitchen. 

“No dear, I'm alright.” Catelyn’s voice sounds closer to where Sansa is. 

“Can I get you anything, maybe some tea or coffe-”

“You can tell me the truth.” 

Her mother's interruption cuts her off and all of a sudden she's drawing a blank. 

“I d-don’t know what you're talking about,” She trails off slowly. 

(This is another lie she tells herself. 

Of course she knows what her mother is referring to, she's been diligent in evading it after all.) 

“I think you do.” Catelyn Stark is no fool, and when it comes to her children she just knows. And with Sansa, the child who is closest to her in demeanor and personality, there's no way her daughter can lie to her face and get away with it. 

Sansa fidgets, sitting down on the stool tucked in their breakfast counter. When Catelyn follows her example and takes the stool next to her, she is no longer able to keep her emotions at bay. 

“I can’t let go of him, mom.” Sansa cries into her mother’s shoulder, Catelyn’s shushing taking her back to when she was a child and needed the comfort of her presence. “I know he’s gone, I’ve accepted that,” Sansa confesses tearfully. “But if I pack away his room, I feel as though I’m truly moving on from him, moving on to a life without him.” Catelyn’s heart breaks at the pain that she sees reflected in blue eyes so similar to hers. “I’m afraid I’ll forget about him.”

“Sansa,” her voice kind but firm, brooking no room for misunderstanding. “Trust me when I say that there’s no way for a mother to forget any of her children.” Catelyn swipes her thumbs on Sansa’s wet cheeks, wiping her tears away but wishing she could take the hurt as well.

It was difficult for her to see Sansa so distressed, and even more so when Ricky's death was fresh for all of them. Catelyn had prided herself in being able to have the solution to her children's problems. But the death of her grandson was not something any one of them could have anticipated. It broke her heart to see Sansa so distraught in the beginning, and then utterly lost in the succeeding months. 

It really is true what they say - parents feel the hurt twice as much when they are helpless in alleviating their children's pain. 

“Moving on with your life doesn't mean you're forgetting your son, honey.” Sansa is soothed by her mother's voice. “As terrible as it sounds, the pain of loss doesn't really go away. It may lessen, and on some days you may even be oblivious to it, but it's there,” Catleyn tucks Sansa's hair behind her ears and gives her a kleenex for the subsequent tears. “And then on some days, the pain will catch you off guard, and it's like you can't breathe.” At this Sansa couldn’t help the sob that leaves her, because she firmly believes that no matter how long it has been since Ricky’s death, she will always, always, feel the pain deep in her bones.

There is sympathy and sadness in her mother’s eyes when Catelyn lifts her face. And the next words that she hears from her mother is not something she’ll ever forget. 

“Our great loss and pain reminds us that we’ve loved greatly and deeply.” Her mother tells her, blue staring into blue. “Sweetheart, there was nothing your boy could’ve want for more in love.”

Sansa's not sure she believes her mother's words, having subscribed to the mindset that there was still something that she could've done for her boy. But she receives the comfort her mother is ready to give her. Sansa lets the absolution wash over her, bit by bit cleansing her of the lies she has convinced herself were true. 


Sansa was entirely preoccupied during dinner with Jon later that day her conversation with Catelyn still ringing in her head. She's always had such trouble reconciling what she knows to be true with what her heart believes. She pushes her food around in her plate, and Jon being at the end of his curiosity and worried that something was troubling his wife decides to finally ask her about it. 

“Did something happen during brunch today, Sansa?” Jon's voice is a low rumble that it is only by chance that Sansa catches him calling her name. 

“I'm sorry, can you say that again?” Her voice was a near whisper and so preoccupied with her own thoughts. But Jon grasping her hand swiftly pulls her out of the prison of her mind. 

Despite the wane smile he gives her, Sansa could not help but think how handsome her husband is. “What's troubling you?” he asks, her hand is still in his and he's started to rub small circles with his thumb. “You've been playing with your food the past half hour.”

Sansa looks him in the eyes and considers her response. “Do you think we're stuck?”


“Yeah, like despite the changes that have happened in our lives, we've sort of stagnated? Stuck on Ricky and his death?” She blurts it out quickly in one breath, as if afraid of her own words and their implications. But, Sansa thinks, it's a fair question mull over. They've certainly welcomed having this new baby in their lives, yet their baby boy seems to hang over them like a dark cloud that can't be dispelled. 

“We're still learning, San,” Jon's voice is soft, a crease starting to form between his brows, one Sansa smooths out because she can. “We've made good progress, I think. It's slow, but we can't really rush the healing process can we?”

She hums in response, because he has a point, her husband. But something still niggles at her. Sansa knows she needs to be forthcoming. 

“I can't stop feeling guilty for the happiness I found after Ricky's death.”

“Neither can I.”

It's a poor reflection of a conversation they had earlier before they went baby shopping. 

Whatever reply she was expecting from her husband, that wasn't it. And so she laughs in surprise more than anything else because there's certainly a lot that they still have to discover about each other, don't they? “I just,” Jon continues as he seemingly tries to grasp the right words that are just a little out of his reach. “I don't want our daughter's birth, and life, to be placed under the shadow of Ricky's death.” He looks her dead in the eye and Sansa sees determination warring with guilt. 

“I don't think that's fair to her or his memory. But I can't shake off the feeling that it makes us - me - a bad parent.” Jon’s vice breaks a little but he clears his throat, swallowing past the lump that's made itself comfortable there. And perhaps for the first time since they lost their son, Sansa sees her strong husband buckle beneath the vulnerability he has pushed to the side. The same vulnerability he hasn't allowed himself to acknowledge, so focused he was on her pain and her wellbeing. He has been her pillar throughout this time, and Sansa is ashamed to admit she hasn't been a source of strength for him. 

She reaches for him, puts her hands on his face, cupping his jaw and brushing her thumbs against his beard. “I’m sorry, Jon,” she whispers in her ear when she moved herself closer to him. “I’m sorry my pain took away your focus on your own.” Sansa drops kisses on him, once, twice - on his cheek and on his shoulder. When she feels him shake his head, his warm hand leaching through the fabric on her back, he pulls away slightly to look him in the eyes. 

His grey eyes are stormy, a mirror of the turmoil he hasn't really allowed to surface. 

“We were both in pain,” he tells her so tenderly. “It was just easier to focus on you and dealing with your hurt than acknowledging and addressing mine.”

Sansa doesn't think that Jon really notices the tears that have spilled forth from him. But neither does she think that they're sad tears necessarily. More cathartic. More a dam finally finding a crack in its walls and has finally burst. 

“What do you think we should do?” She doesn't need to say what specifically, the object of her question clear. 

“We do what we've always done,” he says. “Take things slowly starting with the chores we've set aside for too long.”

And after they clear away the dishes, they go to Ricky's room with boxes they've already labelled for donation. Perhaps because they're doing this both for themselves and for their baby, but putting Ricky's things away was easier than they both anticipated. Each toy and piece of clothing was tinged with a memory, of course, but they were memories they were both happy to file away - something to reach for and to remember, instead of a water balloon that's threatened to burst on their heads. 

“Jon,” Sansa calls to him, Ricky's blanket clutched in her fists. “I want to make a quilt, with his clothes and blanket.” The idea came to her when she encountered some pieces of clothing that were harder to part with. She could make something beautiful and useful with the mementos that were left to them. This time, Sansa thinks, she knows she'll always think of her boy when she sees it. 

Jon turns to look at her, his smile small but genuine, as he folds a pajama bottom and placing it in the box. “It sounds like a great idea, babe.”

They take his blanket, his favorite shirts, and first halloween costume and place them in Sansa's sewing basket. She doesn't know if she'll finish in time for the baby to come but it's something she can do to keep her occupied until her due date comes. They take his room apart, little by little, until it becomes just another space they'll fill in once more. 

Days later when they come home from the hardware store, a gallon of canary yellow in his hands - Jon and Sansa face one of the walls in Ricky’s room, and start to paint it together.


It doesn't register to Sansa at first, so focused was she in the quilt that she was sewing. She thought that it was just Braxton hicks again, having experienced them more frequently the past couple of days. She had all the faith in her obstetrician. If Dr. Mordane said her due day isn't until three days from now, her baby will stay put until it was time for her to go. Honestly

But, as another contraction hits her, Sansa's beginning to think that her baby girl has a plan of her own. 

And when her water breaks mid-stitch, Sansa knows now that her baby doesn't care about due dates. She's ready and she's busting to come out. 

“Jon!” she screams for her husband, the breathing techniques they were taught months ago finally kicking in. Jon rushes into the room, eyes frantic until they settled on her, the wet spot on the floor, and Sansa's hand on her belly. God bless her husband because she doesn't have to say anything else and he's already carrying her to the car. It's a good thing they had the foresight to leave the labor bag in the car and ready to go. 

Jon drives like a mad man, just a little below the speed limit but foregoing some traffic rules in light of her breathing in and out harshly at the back of the car. 

“Are you still okay there, babe?” Jon is usually a very careful driver, but the swerve he makes gets him honked by a sedan. 

“I don't have to answer, do I?” Sansa grunts as another contraction hits her. They're coming in more regular intervals now, about eight minutes apart. Sansa knows she's close and she dearly hopes they get to the hospital in time. 

“You're right, you don't. I’m sorry,” her husband babbles, looking at her through the rear view mirror. When he starts chanting that they're nearly there, Sansa isn't sure if he's doing it for his sake or hers. 

The rest of the day seemed to blur together, once they get through the maternity ward. Sansa remembers being asked to rate her pain, and then her legs being placed on stirrups, and then Dr. Mordane's kind warm eyes smiling at her. 

“It's time to push, Sansa, ” her voice is muffled by her mask but Sansa has heard enough that she pushes with everything she has and with a strength she didn't know she possessed, squeezes her husband's hand as tight as she could. 

Jon tamped down on the yelp that wanted to come loose. He knew that whatever pain he was experiencing because of his hand in Sansa's tight grip is nothing compared to what she's feeling. So he sucks it up because as much as he leans on his wife for strength, he needs his solid presence more. He can't help the wince that flicks on his face when she clamps hard on his hand again, but Jon feels an inordinate amount of love for this wife of his. For being so brave after everything they've been through. 

“You're doing so well, darling. I love you so much,” he whispers in the damp of her hair, leaving a lingering kiss on her head. 

Despite the shooting pain his wife is feeling, Sansa still manages to look radiant and smile at him fondly. “I love you too,” she tells him in response.

Hours later when she's transferred to a room, her baby girl sleeping on her chest, Sansa lets the tears flow. With one hand on her baby's back and another on Jon’s cheek, Sansa knows she's never felt more content in her life. 

It is this picture that Arya snaps and gives her a few days later, their mother trailing after her. Catelyn Stark moves to the head of the bed and brushes her hand first through her daughter's head and then her granddaughter's small nose. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?” The Stark matriarch’s voice is soft, speaking of infinite warmth for the family her baby has made for herself. 

“Unbelievably tired, but so so happy.” Her eyes are still glistening with her tears from earlier when she looks up at her mother. “Thank you so much for being here mom.”

“You know I wouldn't miss it for the world, Sansa.” A kiss on the forehead - on both their foreheads. 

“Have you thought of a name yet,” her little sister asks, snapping her mouth playfully at her toddler's grabby hands. 

Sansa looks at Jon then, her husband's contented smile reflected her own. “Yes we have.” She looks at the little tuft of curly black hair on her chest. “We’ll call her Hope.” 

As in the hope they found after the news of her coming gave them. She is the same hope that has helped Jon and sansa overcome their grief and guilt. 

A few weeks later, when Sansa has finished the quilt she was working on, she uses it as a duvet to cover the crib's mattress, while Jon carries their baby girl in his arms. She hums her a lullaby when she sits on the rocking chair, the same tune she used to sing to Ricky when he was a baby himself. “Your big brother would've loved to meet you, lovely girl.” 

When her baby gives a joyful gurgle back, Sansa buries her head on her husband's side. It's been a roller-coaster ride the past couple of years for them both, but when she sees joy in her husband's eyes, Sansa allows herself to be optimistic about their future as a family. 

After all, they have Hope on their side.