11. Hallie
HALLIE
The living room is too quiet when I step inside, the kind of silence that hums with things left unsaid. My mother sits on the couch, her hands folded in her lap like she's been waiting for hours.
Maybe she has.
The late afternoon light slants through the windows, painting stripes across the hardwood floor, and for a moment, neither of us moves. Neither of us speaks.
Then she exhales, slow and measured, like she's been holding her breath since yesterday. "We need to talk, Hallie."
I don't sit. I stay by the doorway, my fingers curling into the fabric of my shorts, grounding myself in the rough texture. "Yeah. We do."
She pats the cushion beside her, but I shake my head.
It's not just me that needs to be forgiven.
And if I sit, I'll soften. If I soften, I'll forgive too easily. And I'm not ready for that, not yet. Not until I know she understands.
Her shoulders sag, just slightly, but she doesn't push. "I owe you an apology."
"You lied to me." The words come out sharper than I intend, but I don't take them back. "Both of you. For years."
She winces. "I know. And I'm sorry. It wasn't supposed to be like this."
"Then what was it supposed to be like?" I cross my arms, my nails digging into my skin. "Some kind of twisted arrangement where I was the last one to know? When were you planning on telling me?"
Her throat works as she swallows. "Your grandparents—" She cuts herself off, shaking her head.
"They didn't want anyone to know. And I had no choice.
They were going to cut me off. Completely.
No money, no support, nothing. And I couldn't—" Her voice cracks.
"I couldn't let that happen. Not when I had you to think about. "
I stare at her. "So you made me think you and Heath were really a couple, only to cheat on him?"
"No." The word is fierce, immediate. "I mean, yes.
Ever since your father died, I never wanted to be married again…
or even a serious relationship. Believe me, I tried not being in one.
" She looks away, her gaze fixed on the window, where the trees sway in the breeze.
"But I couldn't not be in one. I was just so lonely. "
"What about me?" My voice is hollow. "You just left me."
She doesn't answer right away. The silence stretches, thick and suffocating, until finally, she whispers, "I'm sorry. I thought you wouldn't care. I just wanted to be happy."
Something inside me fractures. Not anger, something worse. Something like pity. "You really didn't think about how this would affect me?"
Her head snaps up, her eyes glistening. "Of course I did. Every damn day. But I was drowning, Hallie. And I didn't know how to ask for help without dragging you down with me."
I want to scream. I want to shake her until she understands how stupid that sounds. But the fight drains out of me, leaving only exhaustion in its wake. "You could've told me."
"I know." She swipes at her cheeks, her fingers coming away wet. "I should have. But I was scared. Scared you'd think less of me. Scared you'd hate me."
I don't say anything. I can't. Because the truth is, I did think less of her. For a while, at least. But now? Now, I just feel tired.
She must see it on my face, because she stands abruptly, her hands twisting together. "I think I need to leave."
The words hit like a punch to the gut. "What?"
"I can't stay here." Her voice is steady, but her fingers tremble. "Not after everything. It's not fair to you or Heath. And it's not fair to me, either."
I open my mouth to argue, but she holds up a hand, stopping me.
"I need to figure things out on my own. Without relying on anyone else. Being happy with myself." She takes a shaky breath. "And you need to spend time with Heath. Without me complicating things."
My throat tightens. "You're really just going to walk away?"
She smiles, but it's sad. Broken. "I'm not walking away from you, Hallie. I'm giving you room to breathe." Her gaze flicks toward the hallway, toward Heath's office, and something in her expression shifts—something knowing. "And I think this will be good for all of us."
I don't answer. I can't. Because she's right.
She steps closer, her hand lifting like she wants to touch me, but she hesitates, letting it fall back to her side. "I love you. No matter what happens, no matter where I end up, that won't change."
I swallow hard. "I love you, too."
"I'm actually ready to go." She turns toward the door, her steps slow, deliberate. I'll make sure to call."
I nod, and the front door clicks shut behind her, the sound final. Irreversible.
And just like that, she's gone.
I stand there in the middle of the living room for all of three seconds, just long enough to register the hollow silence left in her wake, before my stomach twists violently, a sharp, sudden lurch that steals the breath from my lungs.
"What—" The word comes out strangled, half-gasp, half-whimper.
A wave of nausea crashes over me, hot and relentless, and I clamp a hand over my mouth as if that alone could hold it back. My shoes thud against the hardwood as I sprint down the hallway, my vision blurring at the edges.
I barely make it to the bathroom in time, skidding to my knees in front of the toilet just as my body betrays me. Everything comes up at once, bitter, acidic, leaving my throat raw and my chest heaving.
When it's finally over, I sit back against the cool cabinet, my legs trembling beneath me. I press my palms to my flushed cheeks, breathing hard through my nose, trying to steady myself. The nausea lingers, a low, unsettling hum in my gut.
"What the…?" I mutter, more to myself than anyone else.
I press the back of my hand to my forehead, half-expecting to find it slick with fever. But no, my skin is cool, normal. No chills, no aches, no sign of illness at all. Just this… this nausea, sharp and sudden, like my body is playing some cruel joke.
My brows knit together as I replay the last twenty-four hours. "Did I eat something bad?"
I go through the motions in my head. For breakfast, I had scrambled eggs, toast, the same black coffee Heath drinks. Then lunch, a turkey sandwich, shared with him at the kitchen island.
Yesterday's dinner: grilled salmon, roasted vegetables, the same meal we both ate without a second thought. Heath had seconds.
I know he's completely fine, otherwise, he would be here.
So why the hell am I the one on my knees in front of a toilet?
Then another thought slips into my head, quiet and insidious, like a shadow creeping across the floor.
My period.
I freeze.
Oh my god.
When was the last time…?
I count backward in my head, fingers pressing into my temples as if that could help me think. One week. Two. Three. My breath hitches. Four.
My pulse begins to pound, a frantic drumbeat in my ears.
"I'm late."
The words barely leave my lips before my heart starts racing, a wild, erratic rhythm that makes my chest ache. There's only one way to know for sure. Only one way to quiet the storm of panic building inside me.
I push myself up on shaky legs, my hands trembling as I reach for the cabinet beneath the sink. The pregnancy test is still there, unopened, tucked away like some dark secret. I bought it on a whim weeks ago, back when the idea of needing it was still a distant, abstract fear.
Now, it feels like a ticking bomb in my hands.
A few minutes later, I stare at the plastic stick resting on the edge of the bathroom counter, its little window blank and unassuming. Three minutes. That's all it takes. Three minutes that have never, in the history of time, felt so impossibly long.
I pace the small room instead of watching the timer, my bare feet padding against the tile. My hands twist together, fingers knotting and unknotting as if that could somehow speed up the clock. The air feels too thick, too still, like the world itself is holding its breath.
Without meaning to, my thoughts drift to Heath.
To the way his steel blue eyes soften when he looks at me, like I'm the only woman in the room—no, like I'm the only person in the room.
To the quiet strength in his voice when he tells me everything will be okay, even when I'm not sure it will.
To the way he never laughs when I'm embarrassed or scared, only reaches for my hand and reminds me, in that low, steady voice of his, that we'll figure it out together.
Somewhere along the way, admiration became affection. Affection became something deeper, something that settles into my bones and makes my heart ache in the best way.
I love him.
Not because he makes me feel protected, though he does. Not just because he chose me, though he did. But because every single day, he chooses kindness when no one is watching. Because he keeps his promises, even the ones he makes to himself. Because when I'm with him, home isn't a place.
It's a person. It's him.
I smile despite the knot in my stomach, despite the way my hands won't stop shaking.
The timer on my phone chimes, a sharp, sudden sound that makes me jump. My breath catches in my throat.
Slowly, I reach for the test.
My fingers brush against the plastic, hesitant, like it might burn me. I force myself to look.
My eyes fall to the result.
Two unmistakable lines. Dark. Clear. Positive.
For a second, the world stands still. The air leaves my lungs. The noise in my head fades to silence.
Then a laugh escapes me, bright and disbelieving, bubbling up through sudden, hot tears. I press a trembling hand against my stomach, my palm flat against the soft fabric of my shirt.
"Hi there," I whisper, my voice breaking.
My heart feels too full for my chest, like it might burst right out of me. Joy and terror and something like wonder twist together, a knot of emotions I can't begin to unravel.
Heath.
I can't wait to tell him.
The car hums beneath us, a steady, soothing sound as we wind up the hillside road. The city sprawls below, a glittering tapestry of lights that blur into streaks of gold and white through the window. I don't ask where we're going. With Heath, the journey is always part of the gift.