The Hotel Room: His Broken Vows

Chapter Seventeen - Kate

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Kate

The rain tapped gently against the windows, a soothing rhythm in the quiet evening. Kate sat curled up on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her, a soft throw blanket draped over her lap. The ache in her lower back was relentless tonight, a dull throbbing she couldn’t quite ease, but she was too tired to move.

James sat beside her, flipping through a book he clearly wasn’t reading, his gaze drifting toward her every few minutes as if he was waiting for her to need something.

It was strange, how much his presence had shifted lately. Not the tense, hovering energy from when she first came back. This was softer. Quieter. Like he was figuring out how to stay without crowding her.

And that mattered more than she was ready to admit.

From the other room, Lily’s giggles rang out, followed by Noah’s mock-annoyed, “Lily, seriously, you’re gonna spill it!”

Kate glanced toward the kitchen, where both kids were working on ice cream sundaes—well, Lily was working on hers, adding every sprinkle and topping imaginable while Noah, in full teenage exasperation, watched on.

It felt so...normal.

And yet, everything was different.

Because there was a secret between her and James now.

Two secrets.

One they were keeping because the truth would shatter their kids’ trust.

The other—

Kate pressed her hand gently against her stomach, heartbeat slowing.

This secret felt different . Warmer. It didn’t feel like she was holding it alone.

James noticed the shift immediately. His eyes dropped to her hand resting on the barely-there curve of her stomach. And then, so quietly it felt more like instinct than thought, he reached out too, his hand settling over hers.

It wasn’t hesitant.

It wasn’t forced.

It felt...right.

Kate exhaled, leaning back into the cushions, her body unconsciously relaxing.

“Back still hurting?” James asked softly, his voice so low it didn’t carry toward the kitchen.

She nodded.

He didn’t ask permission. Just shifted closer, his hand moving from her stomach to her lower back, pressing gently as his thumbs worked in slow circles over the sore muscles.

The tension eased almost instantly, and Kate’s eyes fluttered shut.

“That feels amazing,” she whispered, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

James didn’t respond with words, just kept massaging carefully, his touch careful and steady.

From the kitchen, Lily was still rambling about her toppings, about how sprinkles were necessary for the aesthetic. Noah groaned, but there was no real irritation behind it—just the familiar rhythm of their sibling banter.

The sound made Kate’s chest ache in a different way.

For so long, the weight of James’s betrayal had lingered like a storm cloud, pressing between all of them.

But this secret...

This wasn’t like that.

For the first time in months, she felt like James was on her side. That they were holding something precious together , not keeping something damaging hidden.

This moment—this quiet connection, his presence, his gentleness—made her realize how much she had missed him. The version of him who had been present. Caring. Loving.

Not the version who broke her heart.

She opened her eyes, turning to glance at him, and for a heartbeat, they just looked at each other.

And she saw it—the emotion behind his eyes. The regret.

But he didn’t say anything.

He just stayed, present, his hand still steady on her back, his thumb brushing lightly along the curve of her spine.

And for now, that was enough.

Because for once, she didn’t feel like she was carrying it all alone.

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The kids were asleep. James had taken Lily to bed earlier, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead while Noah lingered in his room, headphones on, locked in his own teenage world.

And now, it was just Kate—alone in the dim light of the spare room that had become hers since everything fell apart.

The walls were still bare, boxes stacked haphazardly in the corners. She hadn’t really unpacked. Not fully. The guest bed was too small, the air felt stale, and the whole space felt temporary, as if admitting she lived here would make it permanent.

Another canvas sat in front of her. Half-finished.

A mess.

At first, she’d thought the act of painting would feel like release . A way to channel everything she couldn’t say, the knot of grief and anger and guilt and confusion twisting so tightly inside her it made her stomach ache.

But the longer she worked, the messier it became.

She’d started with sweeping strokes, a storm of blues and grays and deep violet bleeding together. But it wasn’t...anything. Shapes blurred. Lines blurred. Colors tangled.

It was chaos.

Her hand trembled slightly as she added another brushstroke, dragging a streak of crimson across the blue. It didn’t blend well. The paint was too thick, too uneven.

Too raw.

She stared at it, heart pounding in a rhythm she couldn’t quite control.

What am I even trying to say?

The brush hovered above the canvas, suspended as her mind spiraled.

Was she angry? Was she hurt?

Was she mourning the marriage she thought she had? Or clinging too hard to the one she wished could be saved?

Everything felt tangled, like the lines of her life were smearing together—blurred between the James she’d loved and the James who had betrayed her. Between the baby growing inside her and the ache of knowing her heart still felt cracked wide open.

Her grip tightened on the brush.

The truth was—she didn’t know how she felt.

She thought back to James, sitting so patiently with her earlier, his hands gentle on her back. The man who had held her hair when she was sick, brought her tea, stayed when he didn’t have to.

But that same man had been with another woman.

Had chosen to step outside of everything they’d built.

The brush dragged again, this time harder, a deep black stroke slicing through the middle of the canvas.

The sound felt louder than it should have been, the bristles scraping against the weave.

She hated that she still wanted him here. Hated the part of herself that had softened at his tenderness tonight.

How could love and rage live in the same breath?

How could she feel both ?

The brush slipped from her hand, hitting the drop cloth, a smear of black paint streaking across her fingers.

Kate pressed her palm to her chest, the ache behind her ribs expanding, pressing tighter.

This isn’t helping.

But still, she stayed.

Stayed with the mess, the unfinished canvas.

Because even if she didn’t understand what she was trying to say yet—

At least she was feeling something.

══════════════════

The light filtering through the blinds was pale, soft, but it still felt like too much.

Kate lay in the guest bed, her body aching with exhaustion that seemed to weigh heavier than usual. She felt hollow, drained, as though every muscle had been wrung out overnight.

The sound of footsteps approached—soft but distinct—then a gentle knock at the door.

She barely had the strength to call out, but the door opened anyway.

James.

His gaze swept over her, lingering on her face, the way her hand rested protectively over her stomach. He didn’t say anything right away, just quietly took in the sight of her curled beneath the blanket.

“You okay?” His voice was softer than usual, careful.

She managed a nod, though it felt like a lie. “Just tired. I’ll get up in a minute.”

James frowned, stepping closer, brows drawing together.

“Stay in bed.”

She blinked, surprised by his firmness.

“I’ll handle everything this morning,” he added before she could protest. His gaze was steady, leaving no room for argument. “Noah’s already up. He said he’s riding his bike today. I’ll drop Lily off.” His eyes softened, voice lowering further. “You need rest, Kate. Just stay here. Please.”

She didn’t fight it. Her body was too heavy. The fog of fatigue too thick.

She nodded, closing her eyes as James pulled the blanket a little higher over her shoulder, his touch lingering for just a beat longer than necessary.

The door clicked shut quietly behind him.

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Kate sat up slowly, fatigue still pressing heavy in her limbs. She glanced toward the clock on the nightstand. Later than she expected.

James must have already taken Lily to school.

He told me to stay in bed. And I listened.

That in itself felt strange—letting herself be taken care of, even in this small way.

She pushed back the blanket and padded into the hallway, the ache in her body making her steps slower than usual.

From the kitchen, the soft clink of mugs drifted toward her.

He came back.

James was standing by the counter, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened. His hands rested on a mug, fingers curled around the ceramic as he stared out the window like he was lost in thought.

“You’re still here?” Her voice came out softer than she intended, rough from sleep.

James turned, his expression shifting the moment he saw her. He didn’t say anything right away—just looked at her, really looked —like he was still seeing the exhaustion she felt down to her bones.

“Yeah,” he said gently. “I thought I’d work from home today. Just...wanted to make sure you were okay.”

The words felt sincere in a way that unsettled her.

Kate nodded slowly, unsure how to respond to this softer version of him.

Then his gaze shifted, past her, toward the hall leading to the guest room.

Her stomach twisted.

The art supplies. The half-finished canvas. The chaos she hadn’t cleaned up from the night before.

He saw it.

Heat rushed to her face. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, feeling exposed in a way she hadn’t expected. That canvas wasn’t meant for anyone’s eyes. It was unfinished , vulnerable, raw—just like everything she was feeling but hadn’t yet figured out how to express.

She braced for the teasing comment. The playful tone he used to use when she’d painted, back when it was just a hobby she let slip away after the kids were born.

But it didn’t come.

Instead, James’s gaze lingered on the hallway for a heartbeat longer before he met her eyes again.

“You painted last night.” His voice wasn’t teasing. Just...curious.

Kate shrugged, a protective edge creeping into her tone. “Yeah. I couldn’t sleep. It’s not—”

“It’s beautiful.”

She blinked, the words catching her off guard.

Beautiful?

“It’s not done,” she deflected. “It’s a mess. I just—”

“It’s not a mess.” His voice was softer now, more certain. He stepped a little closer, careful but sure. “I can see what you were feeling.”

And that was when it hit her.

She trusted him with this. Just like she had trusted him with all of herself for their entire marriage.

Trusted him with her heart. With their family.

And he had broken that trust.

A cold knot tightened in her stomach. Had she been wrong to trust him then? Was she still being foolish to trust him now?

But as James held her gaze, something in his expression cracked the walls she’d been holding up.

He wasn’t looking at her with pity. He wasn’t diminishing it. There was no condescension, no forced kindness.

Only quiet support.

He had seen her work—unfinished, flawed, messy —and still thought it was beautiful.

The tension in her chest softened, just slightly.

And in that moment, she realized something else. She hadn’t been wrong to trust him with this part of herself.

Not because he was perfect.

But because she was allowed to be seen, to express herself, without it needing to be perfect.

Even when it scared her. Even when the pain lingered.

James set a mug of tea gently on the counter and slid it toward her, his voice low and steady.

“You need to rest. Let me take care of things today.”

Kate swallowed hard, the vulnerability pressing deeper than she wanted to admit.

But she didn’t resist. She could trust him with this part of herself—at least for now.