Chapter Thirty-Four - Kate
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Kate
Kate sat on the edge of the bed, her hands resting lightly on her lap. The morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting soft golden streaks across the room. She stared down at her left hand, at the ring that had been there for nearly half her life.
Her wedding ring.
It was tight now, too tight. Her fingers were beginning to swell with the pregnancy, the way they always did around this time. She knew it was time to take it off, at least until after the baby was born.
But the thought filled her with an odd, hollow ache.
Carefully, she twisted the ring, feeling the familiar tug of metal against her skin. It slid off more easily than she expected, leaving behind a faint indentation, a pale circle that marked the place it had occupied for so many years.
She set it gently on the nightstand, her hand suddenly feeling strange and bare.
How odd, she thought, not to be wearing it.
Even when her world had fallen apart—even when James had cheated, and she’d packed her bags and taken the kids to Leah’s—she’d never considered taking it off. She hadn’t even thought about it.
If she had, she probably would have removed it. Should have, maybe. But it was such an unconscious part of her routine, so deeply ingrained, that the idea hadn’t crossed her mind.
She’d taken it off to sleep, sure. But every morning, it was the first thing she’d put on, sliding it back onto her finger as naturally as brushing her teeth. She’d taken it off to wash up, to shower, to knead dough in the kitchen—but she always put it back on.
So when she’d left James—when she’d slammed the door on their life together—she hadn’t just left her ring on her finger. She’d put it back on hundreds of times, day after day, without even thinking.
The weight of that realization made her chest tighten, her throat constricting against the swell of emotion.
Her eyes drifted to the ring, small and unassuming on the nightstand, its gold band glinting softly in the sunlight.
James had taken his off.
He had slipped it from his finger, made himself appear like a single man, free of obligations and vows. Picturing it now—his bare ring finger pressing against the curve of someone else’s body, gripping that naked waist, her skin unfamiliar and smooth—Kate’s stomach churned violently.
Her heart ached, sharp and bitter, at the memory she couldn’t erase.
The betrayal still felt raw sometimes, like a wound that refused to fully scab over. It wasn’t just the act itself. It was what it represented—how easily he had set aside the life they had built, the promises they had made.
And yet…
She looked at the indent on her finger, the pale band of skin that still held the shape of the ring even when it was gone.
She had never truly taken it off. Not in the way that mattered.
She had worn it when she was furious with him. Worn it when she cried herself to sleep at Leah’s. Worn it even when she told herself she didn’t know if they had a future together.
Because no matter how much he had hurt her, no matter how much she wanted to hate him for what he had done, some part of her still clung to the life they had built.
The ring wasn’t just a piece of jewelry. It was part of her.
Kate closed her eyes, exhaling shakily. She pressed her thumb to the faint mark on her finger, tracing it lightly as her thoughts spiraled.
How could something so small, so simple, hold so much weight?
Kate rose slowly, brushing her fingers over the ring one last time before turning away.
The indent remained.
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The studio was quiet, the soft hum of the heater blending with the occasional creak of the floorboards beneath her bare feet. Kate stood in front of the canvas, her fingers lightly gripping the paintbrush. The smell of fresh paint lingered in the air, familiar and grounding.
Her gaze shifted to the half-finished piece before her, the bold colors already swirling together in a vibrant dance. She hadn’t planned to paint tonight—hadn’t planned anything, really—but the pull of the studio had been too strong to resist.
Her hand moved almost instinctively, sweeping the brush across the canvas in long, fluid strokes. The shapes were abstract but intentional, layers of color building on one another like emotions stacking and intertwining.
As she worked, her mind drifted to the crayon drawing Lily had proudly shown her just days ago. The image had stuck with her—the simplicity of the figures holding hands, the baby inside her belly drawn as a tiny, hopeful bubble.
She set down the brush, reaching for a palette knife to add texture, her movements deliberate. Without realizing it, the shapes on the canvas began to echo the lines of Lily’s drawing.
There was no literal translation, no attempt to recreate it exactly, but the essence was there—round, embracing shapes that suggested unity, warmth, and connection. The tiny bubble became a focal point, its soft, glowing presence nestled within the larger forms.
Kate stepped back, tilting her head as she studied the piece. It was bright, alive with color and movement. Yellows and oranges spread warmth across the surface, while deep greens and blues wove in to anchor it, giving it depth.
It didn’t feel like the raw, tangled emotion of her earlier works. It felt…at peace.
Her hand rested lightly on her belly as she continued to examine the painting. It wasn’t just her anymore. The new life growing inside her had shifted something within her—a sense of possibility, of renewal.
The tears came unexpectedly, blurring her vision. She wiped at them with the back of her hand, laughing softly at herself.
“It’s not even finished,” she whispered aloud, her voice trembling with emotion.
But that wasn’t entirely true. Maybe it wasn’t complete in the traditional sense, but in her heart, it felt whole.
Kate turned, catching sight of Lily’s crayon sketch pinned to the edge of the wall. She smiled, brushing her fingers lightly across the vibrant drawing.
Her family. Their family.
It was messy and fractured and still mending, but the love was still there, holding it all together in ways she hadn’t always noticed before.
With a deep breath, she returned to the canvas, adding the final touches with a steady hand. The tiny glowing shape at the center grew brighter, radiating warmth out into the surrounding colors.
She stepped back one last time, the weight in her chest easing as she looked at what she’d created. It wasn’t perfect. But it was hers.
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Kate sat in the nursery, the faint smell of fresh paint lingering in the air. The walls, half-painted in the soft yellow Lily had picked out, were bare, but the room was beginning to take shape. The crib pieces leaned against one wall, waiting to be assembled, and a pile of baby clothes Leah had dropped off earlier sat on her lap.
Her hands moved automatically, folding the tiny onesies, but her mind drifted, lost in the haze of uncertainty that seemed to settle over her lately.
The sound of James’s footsteps pulled her back to the present. She glanced up as he stepped into the room, his gaze warm but hesitant, like he was unsure if he was welcome here.
His eyes flickered to her hands, and she saw him freeze, the smile dropping from his face.
“Kate…” His voice was fragile.
She frowned slightly, confused by the way he trailed off. “What?”
His throat worked, and he stepped closer, sinking to his knees in front of her on the paint-stained tarp. The sight of him like that—vulnerable, raw—sent a pang through her chest.
“I know why,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I get it. I just…I need you to know that it’s okay. I understand why you don’t want to be wearing my ring anymore. After everything I’ve done, I understand. I do.”
Her eyes widened as the realization of what he was talking about hit her.
“James—”
“No, let me finish,” he interrupted gently, his hands lightly gripping her knees. His voice trembled, his eyes shining. “I hope—I dream—that one day, you’ll want to put it back on. But if that day never comes, I’ll still love you. I’ll still be here, doing whatever I can to make things right. You mean everything to me, Kate.”
A strange, bittersweet fondness filled her chest as she reached out, her fingers brushing his cheek.
“James,” she said softly, a hint of amusement breaking through her voice. “I’m not wearing my ring because my fingers are starting to swell. It’s the pregnancy.”
His mouth fell open slightly, his expression shifting from heartbreak to a mix of surprise and embarrassment. “Oh.”
She could see the tension drain from his shoulders, the weight he’d been carrying so visibly easing just a little. It was almost comical, the way his brow furrowed as if piecing together a puzzle he should’ve solved hours ago.
For a man so brilliant in other ways, he could be so utterly clueless about the small, practical truths of life. Her heart softened further, the ache of their shared history melding into something warmer, something quieter.
Her lips twitched as she tried to hold back a smile.
“Well,” he said, his tone sheepish as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Now I feel a bit silly.”
Kate’s gaze softened as she looked at him, kneeling there, his hands resting on her knees.
“You don’t look silly to me,” she said quietly, her voice carrying more weight than the words themselves.
For a moment, the air between them shifted. The walls of uncertainty and hurt that had been built over the months seemed to thin, just slightly.
“I love you,” he said.
Kate reached for his hand, lacing her fingers with his. “I know.”