Chapter 8
Lucas
The world shrunk to the radius of Bella’s bed. Strict orders: no movement, no stairs, not even a walk to the mailbox. The doctor used the words “threatened preterm labor” and “viability window,” and every syllable was a hammer. I scheduled a private nurse to work
eight-hour shifts. I set up work in the living room, emails pinging non-stop, conference calls running on mute while I kept half an ear tuned to the slow shuffle of nurse sneakers and the sound of Bella’s breathing in the bedroom.
She never complained. Not once. She just lay there, propped up by pillows and sunlight, her phone lighting up with messages from friends and relatives, all of them offering hope and advice she barely skimmed.
I saw the pressure on her face—the way she measured every twinge and cramp, every microsecond she failed to keep Grace safe.
I promised her I’d be around more. I meant it. But when the expansion detonated—client leaks, a reporter sniffing for dirt, lawyers in full CYA mode—I had to fix it. Victoria called at seven, urgent.
“Need your signature on these. I’ll bring them by.”
“I can get out—” I started, but she cut me off.
“Stay home, Lucas. You have to. I’m twenty minutes out.”
When she arrived, the nurse opened the door.
Bella was awake, hair braided and face free of makeup, looking ten years younger and twice as tired.
Victoria paused on the threshold, professional mask in place, but her eyes flicked immediately to Bella’s stomach, and something about her posture shifted—more cautious, maybe, or more exposed.
“Thank you for coming,” Bella said, her voice clear. “He’s been glued to the phone for hours. If you can get him off for five minutes, I’ll owe you.”
Victoria smiled. “I’ll do my best.”
We set up at the dining room table, laptops open, papers spread between us.
From the kitchen, I could see the nurse reading in a corner, Bella napping with her mouth slightly open, a blanket half on, half off.
I wondered if it was possible to live in two worlds at once and not eventually rip yourself apart.
Work with Victoria was always smooth. But tonight there was an edge, an extra layer of self-consciousness that made every pause and glance heavier. At one point, she handed me a pen, our fingers brushing. The contact lingered.
She broke the silence first. “You’re good at this,” she said.
“At what?”
“Holding it all together,” she replied. “Even when it’s impossible.”
I looked away, not sure if it was a compliment or an accusation.
We powered through the documents. I was about to walk her out when she stopped in the doorway, hand resting on the knob.
“Can I say something?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
She studied her shoes. “Seeing your wife tonight—it made me realize I can’t keep doing this.”
I felt my chest seize. “Doing what?”
She shook her head. “The messages. The calls. Pretending it doesn’t mean anything.”
I exhaled. “You’re right. We should stop.”
Victoria looked up at me, her eyes glassy. “So why does it feel like we won’t?”
I didn’t have an answer. I just stood there, every cell in my body lighting up with want and regret.
She stepped closer, closing the gap between us. “Just one time,” she whispered.
It wasn’t a question. I let her kiss me, my hand tangling in her hair, her body pressed hard against mine. The kiss was brief but volcanic, a year’s worth of denial compressed into one desperate moment.
Then she pulled away, breath shaky. “Goodbye, Lucas,” she said.
Before I could respond, Bella’s voice echoed from upstairs.
“Lucas?”
I wiped my mouth, adrenaline burning through me. “Coming!” I called back.
Victoria left, heels silent on the wood floor. I watched her go, heart racing, and for the first time in my life, I wondered if I was beyond redemption.
When I got to the bedroom, Bella was awake, pale and beautiful in the lamplight.
“You okay?” I asked.
She nodded, but her eyes searched my face for something I hoped she’d never find.
“Stay with me,” she whispered.
I slid into bed beside her, heart still pounding, hands shaking. She curled into me, her body warm and trusting, and I felt the split widen in my soul.
I held her close, promising myself I would never let go.
But all night long, I kept replaying the goodbye—over and over, until the memory was raw and bright as a fresh wound.