CHAPTER THIRTEEN #2
“You look fantastic. How long do you have left?”
“A few weeks,” I say with a small smile.
“So,” she says once we’re seated, “what made you come back?”
I exhale slowly. “I think I just wanted to talk. About where I am now.” I hesitate. “And whether that’s normal.”
She nods, waiting.
“There’s been a lot of change,” I continue. “Good change. My ex, Kade, he’s been around more. Not in a pushy way.”
“How does that make you feel?”
I frown, searching for the right word. “Conflicted,” I admit.
She leans forward slightly. “Tell me more.”
“He’s patient,” I say quietly. “Unrecognisable, actually. He asks before he touches me. Every time. Even for small things. A hand on my back. Holding my hand. Sometimes I say no.” I swallow. “And he’s okay with that.”
Her expression softens. “And sometimes?”
“Sometimes, I say yes.” My voice drops. “And lately, I’ve been the one initiating.”
I glance down at my hands, suddenly self-conscious. “Nothing sexual. Not really. Just closeness. Touch. Sitting near him. Letting him hold me.”
“And how does that feel?”
I think about it. “It feels safe,” I say.
“Which is strange, because I didn’t think I’d ever associate safety with him again.
” My throat tightens. “I don’t feel pressured or rushed.
And when I stop, he stops.” I pause. “I guess what I’m asking,” I continue, “is whether it’s normal to want more when I’m still .
. . well, when the attack is so recent and when I still sometimes feel angry at Kade. ”
Anna smiles gently. “Eden, healing isn’t linear.
Some women jump right back into a relationship, some go weeks, months, even years.
There’s no set time. It’s when you feel ready.
When your body tells you you’re ready. Trust and forgiveness aren’t the same thing.
You can feel ready for closeness without being ready to erase what happened. ”
Her words reassure me. “So, I’m not weird or betraying myself?”
“No,” she says firmly. “You’re listening to your body. That’s a sign of healing.”
I blink rapidly, emotion catching me off-guard.
“I still get scared,” I admit. “Sometimes when he looks at me, I worry he expects more. And then I remember he doesn’t. He never assumes.”
“That’s important,” she says. “What you’re describing is reclaiming control. You’re choosing intimacy on your terms.”
I nod slowly.
“I think I’m ready to take another step,” I whisper. “I want to.”
She meets my eyes. “As long as you continue to feel safe, heard, and in control, there’s no timeline you need to follow but your own.”
I exhale slowly, realising how nervous I actually was at admitting it out loud.
“Thank you,” I say quietly.
She smiles. “You’re doing really well, Eden.”
As I stand to leave, I place a hand over my stomach, feeling a familiar flutter beneath my palm, almost like our child agrees with me.
“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Martha asks for what has to be the tenth time.
I groan dramatically, grabbing her shoulders and steering her towards the door. “An entire weekend of me-time? Please. I might actually be able to chill in peace.”
“And you swear to keep the baby in until I get back?” she asks, dead serious.
I laugh, tugging the front door open . . . and I freeze.
Kade stands on the step with his overnight bag slung over his shoulder, his hair curling slightly at the ends from the slow drizzle pouring from the sky. His smile falters the second he clocks Martha.
She looks between us, then her gaze drops to the bag.
Slowly, a grin spreads across her face.
“Oh my god,” she breathes. “No wonder you were so keen to get rid of me.”
My cheeks burn instantly. “It’s not—”
“And you weren’t even going to tell me,” she adds, clutching her chest dramatically. “Wow. Betrayed in my own home.”
I roll my eyes. “Because I knew you’d turn it into a thing when it’s actually not a thing at all.”
She snorts and shoots Kade a look. “Use protection, Kade. We all know how irresponsible you can be in the moment.” She points to my bump.
“Get out,” I groan, mortified.
Kade laughs as he steps past her, shaking his head. “It’s just so she’s not on her own,” he says calmly. “Nothing deep.”
“Sure,” Martha sing-songs as she heads down the path.
I shut the door with a huff and lean back against it, exhaling.
“Sorry,” I mutter. “She’s been a lot lately. Poor Rabbit’s going to earn his keep this weekend.”
Kade sets his bag at the foot of the stairs. “We both know the truth,” he says quietly. “You don’t need to worry about what anyone else thinks.”
I nod, something warm unfurling in my chest as I follow him into the living room.
“I brought supplies,” he adds, lifting a small bag. “I was thinking . . . bath first, then a movie, and takeout after?”
He pauses, watching my face closely. Waiting.
No pressure. No assumption.
“That sounds really nice,” I say softly.
The bathroom fills with steam, the air scented faintly with cherry blossom. Kade’s gone all out, with candles lining the windowsill, the harsh light switched off so everything glows soft and warm. Even the towel on the radiator is folded neatly, warming.
He tests the water with his hand, nods once, then steps back.“All set,” he says quietly. “I’ll give you some space.”
He turns towards the door. And something in my chest tightens.
“Kade?” My voice is smaller than I expect.
He stops immediately but doesn’t turn.
“Would you . . .” I swallow, my fingers curling into the hem of my top. “Would you stay?”
He turns slowly, like he’s afraid of startling me. “Stay?”
“With me,” I say. Then quickly, before he can misunderstand, “Just sit. Talk. You don’t have to—”
“Yes, of course,” he says at once, too fast, then he reins it in. “But only if you’re sure.”
I nod. “I am.”
He exhales, relief written all over his face, and steps back inside, closing the door gently behind him.
I move carefully, easing out of my clothes and into the bath before I can overthink him seeing me like this. The water hugs my body, warm and soothing, and I sink back with a gentle sigh.
Kade sits on the closed toilet lid, fully dressed, hands clasped loosely between his knees. He keeps his eyes on my face, not my body. I like that he’s showing me that kind of respect.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say.
Minutes pass in companionable silence. The candles flicker. The rain taps against the window. My muscles begin to unclench, one by one.
After a while, I say, “You don’t have to sit so far away.”
He hesitates. “Tell me where.”
I lift one arm out the water, resting it on the edge of the tub. An invitation.
He moves closer, settling on the floor beside the bath. Close enough that I can feel his presence, solid and steady, without it being overwhelming.
“Is this okay?” he asks.
“Yes.”
He rests his forearm beside mine, careful not to touch unless I close the gap myself. When I do—when my fingers brush his wrist—he stills completely.
I watch his throat bob as he swallows.
“This,” I murmur, “this is nice.”
He lets out a quiet, breathless laugh. “I was thinking the same thing.”
Eventually, his hand comes up, slow and deliberate. He doesn’t touch me yet, just hovers, waiting.
“Can I?” he asks.
I nod. His fingers rest lightly over my knuckles, warm and familiar, and the contact sends a gentle shiver through me.
We stay like that for a long time, both lost in our own thoughts. Then, the baby kicks, just like it always does the second I relax. We both laugh, watching as my stomach moves and causes slight ripples across the water.
“You can feel, if you like,” I offer.
Kade’s smile widens as he nods, carefully placing his hand over the tight skin of my stomach.
“It feels amazing,” he murmurs as our child digs his foot into Kade’s hand.
“Like it’s trying to escape.” He sighs, sounding content.
“You have to stay in there until your aunt returns, little one,” he adds, running his finger over my bump. “Or she’ll hate me for that too.”
Our eyes connect, and for a second, it’s like we’re on the same page. Like we both want this to be more. And then, he clears his throat and pushes to his feet. “You’ve shrivelling,” he says, “Let’s get you out.”
He helps me stand then holds out my towel, waiting for me to take it.
As I pass him, I pause, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He closes his eyes at the contact. “Anytime, Queenie.”