Chapter 24
Twenty-four
Addie
The apartment is quiet. Usually, this is when I replay everything and pick it apart. I wait for the doubt to hit. It doesn’t.
There wasn’t a fight. Just an ending that had been coming for a while.
I take off my shoes, rinse my mug, and straighten the blanket. My breathing stays steady. That’s when I realize this isn’t shock. It feels like pressure lifting.
Luc doesn’t crowd my thoughts. I don’t chase the silence he left behind. I just let it be.
I make tea and stand at the window for a minute, watching a woman across the street laugh as her dog refuses to move. It’s ordinary. I feel present. That’s how I know I’m okay.
If I weren’t, I’d be restless. But I’m not.
By midmorning, I’m at my desk with my planner open. I reschedule a meeting, confirm a dentist appointment, and send an email about a commission at Black Bear. The tasks line up and get done.
At one point, I notice I’m not planning around anyone else’s schedule. I don’t adjust for it.
My time feels like mine again.
I look around the studio. The half-finished piece is still there. My tools are in place. I close my planner and move on with my day. It feels manageable.
I’m staring at paint on the walls in the nursery when I hear two quick raps at the door and the door opening before I can answer it. It’s Ginny.
“I come bearing bribery,” she says, holding up a small white box. “And I swear I texted first.”
“I’m sure you did,” I say, stepping aside. “I just didn’t see it.”
She pauses, eyes flicking to my face. “That feels…ominous.”
“It’s not,” I say. “Come in.”
She puts the box on the counter and opens it with a small flourish. Inside are two slices of cheesecake—one plain, one with strawberries. She smiles like she’s brought treasure. “Emergency rations,” she says. “Just in case.”
“Just in case of what?”
“Feelings,” she says.
I smile and grab plates while she slips off her shoes. She looks around the apartment, like she’s checking for changes.
“You moved things,” she says.
“Not really. I just shifted the room around.”
She makes a small sound like she doesn’t fully believe me, but she drops it. We sit at the table and eat. For a few minutes, we talk about normal things—work, a shared frustration, the bakery that’s closed again for renovations.
Then I get up and bring out the painting I did for the nursery. “I want to show you something,” I say.
Her interest sharpens immediately. “Okay.”
I set up the painting and spread the sketches out between us. They show the layout for the baby’s room. I’ve been refining it. Neutral colors, light coming in from the window, storage that makes sense instead of just decorating.
Ginny leans in, cheesecake forgotten. “Addie,” she says slowly. “This is… amazing. When Ryker and I have babies, I want this nursery.”
“Thanks,” I tell her.
She traces a finger along the edge of the paper. “You’ve thought this through.”
“I needed to.”
She sits back, looking at me now instead of the drawings. “You’re not panicking.”
“No.”
“You’re not pretending?”
I meet her gaze. “No.”
She nods. “Okay. Then I’m going to ask the question I came here to ask.”
I wait.
“You and Luc,” she says. “What’s going on?”
“We’re going to have a baby together, but we were never more than a one-night stand,” I say.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.”
She watches me for a long moment. “You’re very calm for someone who’s facing raising a baby on your own.”
“I’m not alone. I have you, Ric, Sera, and Josie. And I’m sure Luc will help some too. He’s still the baby’s father.”
“Sure, but what about you and what you need?” she asks gently.
“I’ll figure it out,” I say. “It’s not like I’m the first single mother there’s ever been.”
“You and Luc were doing so much together. What happened?”
“It’s a bunch of stuff.”
She shakes her head. “I think you might be making a mistake.”
I don’t react right away. “That’s fair,” I say finally.
Her eyebrows lift. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
She leans back in her chair, clearly unsettled. “You don’t want to fight me on this?”
“No.”
“You don’t want to talk it through?”
“I don’t need to.”
She studies me again. “I don’t love this,” she admits. “I think he cares about you. I think he’s trying.”
“I know,” I say, suppressing all the times I’ve had these very same thoughts. “But our family is so fucked up, and I have so much baggage. I can’t risk anyone thinking they can control me.”
She opens her mouth, and then closes it. “You think telling Evie to back off is controlling you?”
I nod. “Yes.”
Ginny sighs and reaches for her fork again. “I disagree,” she says, “And I reserve the right to say I told you so later.”
“I’ll allow it.”
She smiles, but it’s sad around the edges. “I just hope you don’t regret choosing to be alone.”
I meet her gaze. “I didn’t choose alone,” I say. “I chose myself.”
She just nods.
She heads out not long after that, once the cheesecake has disappeared.
In the afternoon, I’m answering an email when I realize I’m not waiting to be interrupted. I’m not expecting my phone to buzz. The quiet feels different. It’s not just silence. It’s the lack of back-and-forth.
There was a time I would have worried about how this might look or feel to someone else.
I would have explained myself before anyone asked.
I would have tried to smooth things out.
That impulse isn’t there now. Luc crosses my mind, but I don’t feel the need to reach out or keep the door open. The boundary is already there.
This will be simpler. I can focus on what’s important, not be pulled in so many directions. I can do this on my own. Not in defiance. Not to prove anything. Just because I know I’m capable.
The future is open, but it doesn’t scare me. I don’t need all the answers today. Knowing I can walk through this as I choose changes everything.
When I turn off the light that night, the apartment feels solid around me.
Whatever comes next, I’ll face it standing.