Chapter 32
thirty-two
. . .
Natalie
My mom’s house smells like coffee and cinnamon rolls.
It’s been eight days since Jake proposed. Eight days since I walked out of his house and left him standing there with a ring box in his hand and devastation written across his face.
Eight days of silence.
No texts. No calls. No showing up at my door with groceries or takeout or that stupidly perfect smile that always made my defenses crack just a little.
Nothing.
I haven’t slept more than a few hours at a time since that night.
My bed feels too big, too empty, too cold without him taking up half the space and pulling me against his chest in the middle of the night.
I keep reaching for him in my sleep, my hand finding only empty sheets and the sharp reminder that I did this. I chose this.
And I’m miserable.
I sit at her kitchen table, the same one at which I ate breakfast growing up, and watch her move around the kitchen with the ease of someone who’s done this a thousand times.
I came here because I didn’t know where else to go.
Because my house felt suffocating and I needed someone to tell me I’m not ruining my life.
“You want another one?” she asks, gesturing to the cinnamon roll on my plate.
“I shouldn’t. I’ve already had two.”
“You’re eating for two.”
“That’s a myth, Mom. I’m supposed to eat like three hundred extra calories a day, not double everything.”
She sits down across from me with her coffee, giving me that look mothers perfect over decades of practice. “You look tired.”
“I haven’t been sleeping.”
“Why not?”
I press my hand to my belly, feeling the baby shift beneath my palm. “She moves a lot at night. Keeps me up.”
It’s not entirely a lie. The baby does move at night. But that’s not why I can’t sleep.
I can’t sleep because every time I close my eyes, I see Jake’s face. The way he looked at me when I said I needed space. The hurt he tried to hide. The ring box closing with that quiet snap that sounded like an ending.
“That’s not what I mean,” she says gently.
I take a sip of my decaf tea, avoiding her eyes. “Work’s been intense. We finished breaking all season one episodes last week. It’s the mad rush before our deadline.”
“That’s exciting.”
“It’s surreal to see it all come together. Like, these were just ideas in my head a year ago, and now we’re about to have eight full scripts ready to shoot.”
“I’m so proud of you, sweetie.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“And how’s the baby? Everything good?”
“Everything’s great. She’s measuring right on track. And she’s very active.” As if on cue, I shift in my chair, the baby pressing against my ribs. “Dr. Nelson says everything looks perfect for a late March delivery.”
Mom nods, taking a sip of her coffee. “And how’s Jake?”
It takes me a minute to answer. “Fine.”
She gives me that look again. The one that says she knows I’m lying. “Fine?” she repeats.
“Yeah. Fine.”
“Natalie.”
I set down my mug. “Can we not do this right now?”
“Do what?”
“The thing where you ask me questions you already know the answers to.”
“I don’t know the answers. That’s why I’m asking.” But her expression has shifted from casual to concerned. “What happened?”
I close my eyes. I haven’t told anyone about Valentine’s Day. Not even my friends. I’ve been carrying it around for a week, this heavy thing sitting on my chest, making it hard to breathe.
“He told me he loved me,” I say finally.
Mom goes very still. “And?”
“And asked me to marry him.”
I see the shock hit her face and watch as she tries to put on her professionally neutral face.
“When was this?”
“Last week. Valentine’s Day. He cooked this whole dinner, had flowers and candles.” My throat tightens. “He got down on one knee and told me he loved me. That he wanted us to be a family. That I made his life feel whole.”
The memory makes my chest ache. Because he meant it. Every word. I could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice. Jake loves me. Really, truly loves me. And instead of letting myself feel the joy of that, the wonder of being loved by someone like him, I ran.
“What did you say?”
“I told him I needed space.”
“Space,” Mom repeats, her voice neutral.
“I panicked, okay? He just sprang it on me, and I wasn’t ready, and I needed time to think.”
But that’s not entirely true either. Of course he thought I was ready. Because I’ve been acting like I was ready. I just couldn’t say it out loud when it mattered.
“Have you talked to him since?”
“No.”
“Has he tried to contact you?”
“No.”
And God, that hurts more than I expected. Part of me thought he’d push. That he’d show up at my door, refuse to let me shut him out, fight for us the way he’s been fighting since the beginning.
But he didn’t. He gave me exactly what I asked for.
Space.
And that’s what’s killing me. The silence.
The absence of him. It’s been a week of nothing, and it feels worse than being left at the altar.
Because this time, I’m the one who left.
I’m the one who hurt someone who didn’t deserve it.
Someone good and kind and patient. Someone who has been showing up for me every single day since the moment he found out I was pregnant. Someone I’m in love with.
Mom is quiet for a long moment, just watching me. Then she asks, “Do you love him?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
I stare down at my coffee. My hands are shaking slightly, and I press them flat against the table to steady them. “I don’t know. Maybe. Probably. Yes. I think I’ve loved him for a while now. And that’s what scares me the most.”
“So you left him instead.”
“I didn’t leave him. We’ll still co-parent. We just won’t…we’re not doing the relationship thing.”
“You’re already doing the relationship thing, Natalie. You’ve been doing it for months. You just won’t call it that.”
I don’t have an answer for that.
Mom leans forward, her elbows on the table. “Can I tell you something?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“No,” she replies, but she’s smiling slightly. “What Darren did to you was terrible. The hurt and humiliation you felt were very real. I watched you go through that, and it broke my heart.”
“Mom—”
“But you survived it. More than survived—you thrived. You found your own place, built a career, sold your show. You never let that pain stop you from going after what you wanted.” She pauses. “So why are you letting it stop you now?”
“Because this is different.”
“How?”
“Because I have a baby to think about. It’s not just me anymore. If I let myself love Jake and it doesn’t work out, it affects her too.”
Mom sits back in her chair, considering. “Having a baby is the biggest risk you’ll ever take. There are no guarantees. You could do everything right and still face challenges you never imagined. But you didn’t let that stop you from wanting her, did you?”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“Isn’t it? You’re about to love someone more than you’ve ever loved anyone in your life. This baby is going to have the power to hurt you in ways Darren never could. And you’re choosing it anyway.”
I open my mouth to argue, but nothing comes out.
“Life doesn’t come with guarantees. You could go to the store to buy ingredients for a cake and get home and realize all the eggs are bad.
You could get in your car to drive somewhere important and get a flat tire on the way.
Bad things can happen at any time. But you don’t let those thoughts stop you from grocery shopping or driving, do you? ”
“Maybe.” I say. And she gives me the look all moms have perfected when they think their child is being ridiculous. I try to explain. “But love—”
“Love is the same. Yes, it might not work out. Yes, you might get hurt. But refusing to try because you’re afraid? That’s just another kind of pain. A slower, quieter kind. The kind that eats away at you until you wake up one day and realize you built a whole life around fear.”
I feel tears burning behind my eyes. “What if I’m not brave enough?”
“You’re brave enough to have a baby by yourself.
You’re brave enough to build a career in one of the hardest industries in the world.
You’re brave enough to face down a writers’ room full of strangers and prove you belong there.
” Mom reaches across the table and takes my hand.
“You’re brave enough for this too. You’re just choosing not to be. ”
“I don’t know how to do it differently.”
“Yes, you do. You just have to decide that the possibility of happiness is worth the risk of pain.”
We sit in silence for a moment. The baby kicks hard, and I press my hand to my belly.
I swipe at the tears on my face. “I don’t know what to do.”
“You don’t have to know right now. But you do have to think about what you actually want, not just what you’re afraid of.” She stands, coming around the table to pull me into a hug. “And whatever you decide, I’ve got your back.”
I let myself sink into her embrace, breathing in the familiar scent of her perfume and laundry detergent. “What if I ruin it?” I whisper.
“What if you don’t?”
When I finally pull away, Mom brushes the hair back from my face like she used to do when I was little. “You want to stay for lunch? I was going to make enchiladas.”
“Yeah. I’d like that.”
We spend the rest of the afternoon cooking together, talking about safer things, pretending I’m not having a complete romantic crisis, but Mom’s words stay with me, echoing in the back of my mind.
You just have to decide that the possibility of happiness is worth the risk of pain.
And maybe, for the first time, I’m willing to risk it.
When I leave that evening, Mom walks me to my car. “Think about what I said,” she tells me.
“I will.”
“And Natalie? Don’t wait too long. Good men who love you the way Jake does? They don’t come around often.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
On the drive home, I keep replaying the conversation. Mom’s voice mixing with my own doubts, my fears, the small, quiet hope I’ve been trying to ignore. The baby kicks, strong and insistent, and I press my hand to my belly.
“What do you think?” I ask her. “Am I being an idiot?”
She kicks again, and I take it as a yes.