17. Katerina
Katerina
Five Days Later
It took four full days to get my internal clock back on schedule, unpack my luggage, and make my house feel like home again.
Trent had given me physical space since our conversation in his truck by the river.
He didn't drop by unannounced, and he didn't pressure me to see him.
But he didn't disappear either. He kept up the steady string of morning texts, checking in on how I was, asking if I needed help to grab groceries, and sending pictures from his job sites.
In the quiet hours of those four days, I spent a lot of time processing what he’d told me in the park.
For months, I had been furious at the sheer stupidity of his silence, how he’d ignored obvious signs, jumped to wild conclusions, and proposed out of a sense of duty without asking me a single direct question. But hearing him admit to grieving the baby changed my perception.
He hadn't just made a clueless mistake out of panic; he’d spent months falling in love with a future and a child that didn’t exist. And when the illusion shattered, he had to mourn it all alone while watching me walk away.
I was learning to see things from his point of view. And more than that, I was working on doing my part, too. No more withholding. No more walls.
So when Cynthia sent me a tentative text yesterday afternoon:
I know you just got back and probably need rest, but if you’re up for it, I’d love to sit and talk.
No pressure at all, Kat.
I didn't ignore it, and I didn't hide it.
Before I pulled out of my driveway, I typed out a quick text to Trent:
Heading over to your parents' house. Your mom asked if we could talk, and I think it’s time.
He responded almost instantly with:
Thank you for telling me, Kat. Take all the time you need. Mom’s been hoping for this, but if it gets overwhelming, you can walk away anytime.
I smiled softly at my screen, set the phone in the cup holder, and drove over.
When I pulled up to the Prescott house, the front yard was immaculate, and in the driveway was Davis’s work truck.
I walked around to the back gate, pushing it open to find Cynthia sitting on a cushioned lounge chair on the back deck, surrounded by throw pillows, two oversized water tumblers, and a thick throw blanket over her legs despite the warm May sunshine.
At thirty-six weeks, she was unmistakably pregnant. Her belly was a prominent, beautiful sphere under her soft jersey dress, and her ankles were swollen.
Standing about twenty feet away in the yard was Davis. He had a pair of hedge clippers in his hands and was meticulously trimming a row of cedar bushes that looked like they had already been trimmed yesterday.
The moment the gate clicked, Davis snapped his head around. When he saw me, his shoulders dropped in visible relief, but he didn't put the clippers down. He gave me a nod, "Hey, Kat. Good to see you back."
"Hi, Davis," I replied, giving him a genuine smile.
I knew he wasn't pretending to do yard work because he didn't trust me; the man was hovering because he loved his wife so fiercely that he couldn't stand being more than twenty feet away from her while she was in her final home stretch of this high-risk pregnancy.
"I'll be right over here if either of you need anything," he added, giving Cynthia a pointed, protective look before turning back to his bushes.
She let out a soft, fond chuckle, rolling her eyes playfully as I walked up the deck stairs. "He hasn't left my side for more than twenty minutes since he found out," she murmured, her voice laced with deep affection. "I think he’s trimmed those bushes three times this week."
"He loves you," I said, stepping closer. "It's sweet."
"Kat..." Cynthia’s eyes met mine, and the light teasing vanished, replaced by an earnest, vulnerable shine. She started to push herself up from the low chair, but I quickly stepped forward, waving my hands.
"Don't get up, please," I said, taking a chair across from her. "You're supposed to be resting."
Cynthia sank back down with a grateful sigh, setting her hands over the top of her bump. "Thank you for coming," she began, her voice trembling slightly. "I know I have no right to ask anything of you after... after the mess I created."
I kept my hands folded in my lap, listening intently.
"I was scared, Kat," Cynthia whispered, a tear escaping the corner of her eye and trailing down her cheek.
"When I missed my period and took that test at your house, I panicked.
I was almost forty-four. My blood pressure was already a mess.
The thought of starting over, or worse, losing a pregnancy, scared me so badly I felt like I couldn't breathe.
So I hid it in your trash like a coward. "
She swallowed hard, looking at me with absolute sincerity.
"I had no idea Trent found it," she continued, her voice cracking. "Until he came to us, right before he proposed to you. He was worked up wondering why you hadn’t said anything to him. I saw how he looked at you and stupidly thought it would all work out because you loved each other and someday it would just be a funny story. But then Davis gave the ‘do the right thing’ speech and then just like that, Trent proposed, I still hadn’t told Davis…” she took a deep breath, rubbing her belly, before continuing, “And when everything blew up on New Year’s...
I was so paralyzed by my own fear that I let the lie hang there.
I let you bear the brunt of his sudden change, and I let him carry a burden that belonged to me and Davis. I hurt my son, and I hurt you.”
As if on cue, Cynthia suddenly paused mid-breath. Her hand tightened over her lower abdomen, her brows knitting together as her face went pale. She let out a slow, focused exhale through her nose.
From the yard, the sharp snap of hedge clippers instantly stopped. Davis dropped the tool onto the grass and was up the deck stairs in three giant strides, crouching beside Cynthia’s chair and taking her hand.
"Breathe, Cyn," Davis murmured softly, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. "Tightness again?"
"Just… Braxton Hicks," Cynthia gasped out softly, closing her eyes for five seconds until her abdominal muscles relaxed. She let out a long breath, opening her eyes to look at her husband. "I'm okay. It passed."
Davis kissed her forehead, keeping his hand firmly wrapped around hers, but looked at me. "She’s been getting a few of those this week. The doctor says it’s normal, just her body prepping."
Cynthia took a sip of her water, saying, “For something people call false contractions, they sure don't feel fake.”
"Thirty-six weeks is close," I said, gentler now, watching the beautiful bond between Cynthia and Davis. "You're almost at the finish line."
Davis gave her hand one last squeeze before stepping back toward the deck railing, giving us space while staying well within arm's reach.
Cynthia looked back at me, her eyes red-rimmed. "I don't expect you to forget what happened, Kat. But I needed you to hear me say I am so, so sorry. For all of it."
I took a deep breath, feeling the last lingering edges of my resentment slip away. Sitting here, seeing her reality, seeing Davis’s devotion, and knowing how much work Trent had done to own his part, I realized I didn't want to carry anger anymore.
"I forgive you, Cynthia," I said, meaning every word. "Truly. Healthcare scares can make people do irrational things. What matters now is that you and the baby stay healthy."
Cynthia covered her mouth with her hand, a fresh wave of tears spilling over, and nodded repeatedly. "Thank you, Kat. Thank you."
We sat together for another half hour, talking about lighter things: her nursery setup, the business, and the beauty of late spring in the valley.
When the sun dipped behind the trees, Davis stepped forward with a warm smile. "Stay for dinner, Kat. I'm tossing chicken and veggies on the grill."
"It smells amazing, Davis, thank you," I said, rising from my chair, "But I'm going to take a rain check. I need to get home and finish settling in."
"Next time," Cynthia agreed softly, squeezing my hand from her chair.
The drive back to my place was quiet. I didn't turn on the radio. I just let the cool evening air blow through the open driver’s window, my mind working through the shift that had taken place.
Forgiving Cynthia had been easy once I saw her as a human who had made a desperate mistake out of fear.
And as I turned down my street, the thought came to me with the sudden, sharp clarity of a lightning strike:
If I can forgive Cynthia... then why was I holding Trent to an impossible standard?
He had made a mistake, yes. A massive, foolish, silent mistake born out of panic and a misguided sense of duty. But sitting in his truck five days ago, he hadn't offered excuses. He had offered his unarmored heart. He had shown me his grief, his regret, and his love.
I pulled into my driveway, shifted into park, and sat in the quiet for a long moment, resting my wrists on the top of the steering wheel.
I had spent months convincing myself that Trent’s proposal was strictly about duty, that he had trapped himself into a life he thought he was required to live.
But looking back at the way he’d flown thousands of miles to make sure I was ok, the way he’d cooked three weeks of meals for my freezer, the way he’d remembered my wool socks, and the way he looked at me in the airport...
He didn't just feel bound to me. He loved me. Deeply, completely, and without reservation.
And despite the heartbreak, despite the distance, despite every wall I’d tried to build to protect myself... I still loved him, too.
I reached for my phone, unlocked the screen, and opened my message thread with Trent. My fingers hovered over the keyboard for three seconds before I typed:
Just got back to my place. The talk with your mom went really well.
Are you free tomorrow night?
His reply came back less than ten seconds later:
For you? Always.
I smiled, setting the phone down, feeling the weight of the past months slip off my shoulders. It was time to stop running from what was real.