Chapter 34
Thirty-four
Addie
After I talk it through with my siblings for a while, I know what I have to do. My decision hasn’t changed. Ginny wraps her arms around me. “You can stand up to her. You’ve done it before.”
I nod. Evie had no right to do what she did. I’m grateful for my siblings gathering with me, and that Sera arrived with a box of my art supplies, my watercolor blocks, and a suitcase of clothes.
That’s making me feel less panicked and more like I have what I need to get through this. I feel calmer, which is good, because I need to be past the heat of my anger before I talk to Evie. Otherwise, I hand her the upper ground without meaning to.
But frankly, I was stunned when Sera told me the movers had unpacked my things in Ginny’s old cottage.
“It’s time to talk to her,” Ric says.
With that, everyone nods, having come to consensus. Chairs scrape. Sera grabs her bag. Josie mutters something about a meeting. One by one, they clear out. Luc gives me a warm hug, but then he, too, heads off down the hall.
With one last look at my siblings as they return to their lives, I pull my phone from my pocket and step into a small laundry room I find off the kitchen, closing the door behind me. I need the separation. I need this conversation to be contained.
Evie answers on the second ring.
“Addison,” she says, her voice warm. “I was just thinking about you. I heard you stayed with Luc last night.”
Of course, she did. “I’m calling because I’m concerned that you canceled my lease and emptied my apartment,” I tell her.
There’s a brief pause, and then a sigh that sounds practiced. “I took care of a problem before it became one. You’re eight months pregnant. You don’t need to be worrying about rent right now.”
“That wasn’t your decision to make.”
She’s quiet a moment. “I’m your grandmother,” she says. “It absolutely is.”
“No,” I reply. “It isn’t.”
“That’s—” Evie starts.
“I’m not finished,” I say, calm and firm. “You don’t get to arrange my housing. You don’t get to decide who has access to my child. You don’t get to make plans on my behalf.”
“You’re emotional,” she says. “This isn’t the time for—”
“This is exactly the time,” I reply. “Because it’s my life.”
I pause a moment before I continue.
“I’m not going to live with you. And you can only be part of my life and my son’s life if you respect my boundaries. If you don’t, you won’t be.”
She exhales sharply. “You’re choosing a man over your family.”
“I’m choosing myself,” I say. “And I’m choosing to raise my son in a way that doesn’t involve control disguised as care.”
Silence again.
“I’ll find myself a place to live,” I add. “That’s my decision. One you’ve made harder by taking away what I had. You don’t need to approve my choices. I don’t even care if you like them.” I end the call before she can reclaim the floor.
My hands are steady as I lower the phone. For the first time since yesterday, I feel like I can breathe. I stand where I am, my hand still resting on the edge of the counter.
I hear movement behind me in the hallway, but I don’t turn right away. I know who it is. I knew he was still here. His presence registers the way weather does, subtle but impossible to ignore.
“Addie,” Luc says softly through the door, like he’s not sure I can handle anything louder.
That does it. The last thread holding me upright snaps, and I turn to pull open the door.
Once I do, and Luc gets a look at me, he doesn’t hesitate. He closes the distance in two strides and pulls me into his arms. I fold into his chest, my forehead fitting under his chin, my hands curling into the fabric of his shirt.
The relief is immediate. Everything in me exhales. The tension I’ve been carrying loosens. Luc doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t ask what I need or tell me it’s going to be okay. He just holds me, steady and unmovable, like he’s anchoring me.
After a moment, he loosens his hold enough to shift his weight, but he doesn’t let go. His hands remain warm and steady at my back.
“Come with me,” he says quietly.
He guides me down the hall, and I come without resistance, my fingers still hooked into his shirt like letting go might make the ground tilt again. He stops at a closed door, opens it, and steps aside.
It’s a nursery. There’s a crib near the window, pale wood and clean lines. A mobile with bright rockets suspended overhead. A changing table with rounded edges. And in the corner, angled toward the light, a glider I recognize, one I bookmarked weeks ago but never mentioned.
My throat tightens.
“I know the baby won’t be here all the time,” Luc says evenly.
He keeps his hands at his sides now, giving me space.
“And I’m not assuming anything about how you want things to look.
I just…wanted to be ready in case you ever wanted a night to yourself.
Or two. I want this to be somewhere you feel safe leaving our son. ”
I close my eyes a moment. The contrast could not be more stark. I shouldn’t let this slip away. “You didn’t have to do this,” I tell him, though I’m not sure what I’m trying to convey with those words.
“I know,” he replies. “I wanted to. It felt right to me.” He gestures to the walls. Bare. Smooth. Unmarked. “I thought you might want to put a mural here.”
My eyes travel over the clean surfaces begging for artwork.
“If you want to,” he adds, “the space is yours. No timeline. No plan. I just figured…if you ever felt like painting something, this is a spot where he’ll have a chance to see it.”
Something shifts in my heart, a quiet release like a lock opening. I step fully into the room, my fingers brushing the back of the chair as I pass. Everything here is thoughtful. Chosen. And somehow still leaves room for me.
I turn back to Luc. He watches me closely, but not anxiously. Like he trusts me to tell him what this means when I’m ready. I cross the room and reach for him, my hands sliding up his shoulders into his hair. He stills immediately, attention sharpening.
“Okay?” he asks, low and close.
I nod and kiss him.
I feel the difference immediately, not in him, but in me. This isn’t me seeking comfort and distraction. This is a choice about how I want to move forward.
Heat spikes, my body surging ahead of my thoughts. I press closer, and then pull back just as quickly, my palm braced against his chest, grounding myself in the steady beat beneath my hand.
Luc freezes.
“I need a second,” I say, not stepping away. “Things have been…uneven lately.”
He doesn’t rush me.
“Sometimes, it all hits at once,” I continue quietly. “No warning. And right now I don’t want careful unless I ask for it. I know this is right. Thank you for being someone I can trust.”
He nods. “We’ll go at your pace. And you tell me if something changes.”
I lean into him, my mouth finding his.
“Tell me,” he says.
I don’t answer with words. I guide his hand instead, making it move slower, firmer until the contact morphs into something that makes my breath hitch instead of scatter. “Like that,” I murmur. When his touch drifts, I catch his wrist and shake my head. “Not there.”
He follows. No defensiveness. Just attention.
My shoulders loosen as the pressure increases exactly where I need it. Sensation sharpens, drawing me fully into my body. “Don’t stop,” I breathe. “Stay right there.”
His eyes hold mine, intent and grounded, and I don’t brace for misunderstanding. I don’t wonder what this all means. I let myself stay inside the feeling, trusting that if something changes, I can say so, and he’ll hear it.
I tug him toward the bedroom, my grip sure, my body already anticipating the shift. He joins me without trying to steer, his hand warm and steady at my waist as we cross the threshold.
My dress is gone before I register the movement, fabric lifting over my head, air brushing past my skin.
I shiver, not from cold, but from the awareness of being seen.
Luc’s hands move over my stomach, lingering there as we stand together.
His thumbs trace upward, pausing just long enough to make my breath catch before his palms cup my breasts.
“Do they hurt?” he asks.
“More,” I say roughly as his fingers tighten, testing, adjusting. When he tugs gently at one nipple, sensation spikes, heat shooting straight through me. My head falls back, my hands fisting his shirt.
“That,” I breathe. “Just like that.”
His hand slides lower, unhurried, deliberate, fingers tracing the inside of my thigh before finding me already slick and open.
I gasp at the first touch, my hips shifting, asking without words.
He watches my face as his fingers move, his attention locked on the way my body responds, the way my breath stutters and then deepens.
He leans me forward over the bed, the mattress cool beneath my palms, grounding me as my body arches. His fingers move inside me slowly at first, stretching, setting a rhythm. When his mouth follows, when his tongue finds me, the reaction is immediate and overwhelming.
“Oh—”
The sound breaks out of me before I can stop it. Pleasure blooms fast and bright, stealing my breath as his mouth works with precision, his fingers matching the rhythm, building heat until my thighs tremble and I have to brace myself against the bed.
“Luc,” I groan, my voice breaking. “Make me come.”
His answer is all action. Pressure increases. His mouth draws me deeper, relentless but controlled, until the tension coils so tight it feels unbearable. I cry out as release crashes through me, sharp and powerful, my body shuddering as pleasure crests and breaks, leaving me shaking and breathless.
For a moment, all I can do is breathe.
Then I turn my head, meeting his eyes. “I want you,” I say, steady and unmistakable. “Like this.”
Something darkens in his expression. “Show me.”
I shift, guiding him with my body, settling into what feels right without needing to explain it. He stays close, the contact deep and anchoring as he moves with me. Sensation spreads slowly this time, heat gathering in a way that feels deliberate, chosen.
My breath deepens, every movement registering clearly—the press of his body behind me, the warmth of his hand sliding over my side, the way his palm settles over my stomach, holding me there.
The rhythm builds steadily, not rushed, not overwhelming.
I stay present through every change, every tightening and release, letting the pleasure root me instead of lifting me away.
The second climax comes slower, deeper, rolling through me in waves that leave me trembling but grounded, my body loosening as the intensity finally eases.
Luc stays close, his forehead resting against my back, his breath warm and steady against my skin. Neither of us moves right away. There’s no urgency to separate, no need to fill the quiet.
When I finally turn, he meets me without searching, without question.
I rest my forehead against his chest, listening to the steady beat beneath my ear, my body warm and loose, yet anchored in a way that feels earned.
It takes me a minute to move again, and when I do, it’s unhurried. I reach for my clothes, pulling them on piece by piece as I retrace my steps, aware of Luc behind me, of the way nothing between us feels fragile or uncertain.
In the living room, I pause, my hand resting against my stomach. I think about the nursery down the hall—the blank walls, the furniture waiting, everything in place. Nothing has changed there. Nothing has been decided for me.
And yet everything has shifted, though the ground remains firmly below my feet.
Luc stands behind me, close without touching. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I don’t think he says this to reassure me. It’s just a fact. I nod, as that’s how I feel too.
I’m not staying here because I don’t know where else to go. I’m staying because I want to, and because this finally doesn’t feel like something that happened to me. It’s something I chose.