Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Morning light streams through my office window as I sit at my desk, looking at the computer. Portfolio website mock-ups spread across the surface. After last night’s talk with Jeremy about getting back into freelancing, I woke up with renewed energy, determined to take actual steps forward.
I’m tapping my pencil against a sketch of potential logos when my phone buzzes. Lilly.
Lilly
Have you thought more about painting the nursery? I’m free today
Jeremy and I hadn’t really discussed when we’d start the transformation, though we’d looked at paint samples. Everything between us feels delicate right now, like we’re building something fragile and new from the fragments of what broke.
Me
Not yet. Still working on some design stuff today.
Her response comes quickly:
Lilly
You can’t avoid it forever. Babies come whether the room is ready or not.
Before I can respond, another message appears:
Lilly
Besides, wouldn’t it be better to do it with a friend than your ex?
Ex. The word sits heavy in my stomach. Is that what Jeremy is now? After last night—the way he listened to my dreams about art, how he remembered every detail of my old projects, that moment when he kissed my forehead before going downstairs. It feels odd to call him that.
The sound of the front door opening pulls me from my thoughts. Jeremy’s voice carries up the stairs: “Lex? You up here?”
“In the office!” I call back, quickly turning my phone face-down as his footsteps approach.
He appears in the doorway, still in his work clothes despite it being his day off. “Thought you might want breakfast.” He holds up a bag that smells like the bakery downtown. “Those chocolate croissants you’ve been craving.”
“You remembered?” The surprise in my voice makes him smile.
“Hard to forget when you texted me about them at midnight.” He sets the bag on my desk, careful not to disturb my sketches. His eyes scan the papers. “Making progress?”
“Some.” I pull out the still-warm croissant. “I was thinking of starting with local businesses, maybe—” The words catch as a wave of nausea hits. Not morning sickness this time, but that metallic taste that means I’m about to faint.
He places his hand is on my shoulder instantly. “Lex? You okay?”
“Just dizzy,” I manage, but the room is already starting to spin. Through the haze, I see him reach for his phone.
“I’m calling the doctor.”
“No, I’m fine, really—” But even as I protest, black spots dance at the edges of my vision.
“You’re not fine.” His voice is firm but gentle. “You barely ate yesterday, you’re working too hard, and now you’re pale as a ghost. We’re getting you checked out.”
We. The word echoes in my head as he helps me stand. When did we become we again?
My phone buzzes on the desk—probably Lilly again—but he’s already guiding me toward the door, one arm steady around my waist. The half-eaten croissant sits abandoned next to my sketches, dreams and breakfast both interrupted by this new reality.
“I can walk,” I protest weakly, but lean into him anyway.
“Humor me?” His voice is light, but I can hear the worry underneath. “After everything we’ve been through, let me take care of you. Just for today.”
Everything we’ve been through. The words hang between us as we make our way downstairs. There’s still so much unsaid, so much we need to figure out. But right now, with his arm around me and his heart beating steady against my shoulder, none of that seems to matter.
As he helps me into his truck, I catch him glancing at my stomach. This is what we lost before, I realize. Not just each other, but moments like this—caring about each other, taking care of each other, being there without question or hesitation.
The hospital lights are too bright, the waiting room too quiet except for the steady beep of monitors somewhere down the hall. Jeremy hasn’t let go of my hand, even as nurses come and go with questions and concerned looks.
“Blood pressure’s a bit low,” one tells us, making notes on her tablet. “How long have you been having dizzy spells?”
“Just today,” I start to say.
The nurse nods, adding more notes. “And how’s the morning sickness been?”
“Better some days. Worse others.” I squeeze Jeremy’s hand without thinking. “Mostly just tired lately.”
“That’s normal,” she assures us. “But let’s run some tests to be safe.”
As she sets up the ultrasound machine, I feel Jeremy tense beside me. Our last ultrasound was weeks ago, when everything between us was still raw and new. Now he moves closer, his thumb tracing circles on my palm as the cold gel hits my stomach.
The whoosh-whoosh of our baby’s heartbeat fills the room. Strong and steady, just like their father’s hand in mine.
“Everything looks perfect,” the nurse says, but I barely hear her. I’m too focused on Jeremy’s face, on the way his eyes shine as he watches the screen.
The nurse prints out ultrasound photos - our tiny baby, growing stronger each day. “The doctor will be in shortly to discuss your blood pressure. Try to rest until then.”
Jeremy tucks the photos into his wallet, next to the one from our first appointment. “Remember when we could barely see anything? Now look - actual baby shape.”
“I still say it looks like a blob.” But warmth spreads through my chest at his excitement.
“A very cute blob.” His thumb traces the edge of my palm. “Our blob.”
The doctor knocks and enters, chart in hand. “So, Mrs. Kline.”
“Ms,” I correct automatically. The title still feels strange.
“My apologies. Ms. Kline, your blood pressure’s running low. Not dangerously so, but combined with the dizzy spells, I’d like you to take it easier. More rest, regular meals, plenty of fluids.”
“I can make sure of that,”
“Good. No heavy lifting, no painting.” she glances at my paint-speckled fingers— “and try to keep stress minimal. I want to see you back in a week to check your levels.”
Back home, Jeremy insists on making lunch while I rest on the couch. “Grilled cheese?” His head pops around the corner. “With the fancy cheese your mom used to buy?”
“You remember that?”
“Course I do. You used to beg her to get it every shopping trip.”
The sandwich arrives perfectly golden, cheese melting just right. We eat in comfortable silence, the afternoon sun warming the living room.
“About the nursery,” he says after a while. “Maybe we could hire someone? Save you from the fumes and stuff.”
“We can’t afford?—”
“I got that bonus from work. The one for the big project last month? Let me do this.”
The way he says it - not offering to help, but asking to be part of it - shifts something in my chest.
“Okay,” I say. “But I get to pick the colors.”
“As long as it’s not that awful orange Lilly suggested.”
We laugh, and it feels good. Natural. Like maybe we’re finding our way back to something real, something honest.
That night, as Jeremy settles onto the couch with his pillow, I pause at the bottom of the stairs.
“Thank you,” I say. “For today. For everything.”
His smile crinkles the corners of his eyes. “Get some rest, Lex. Doctor’s orders.”