Chapter Twenty-Eight
We’d booked a lovely little room at a charming bed and breakfast, the kind that felt like it had grown up out of the woods themselves.
Cozy, soft, giving full-on cottage core vibes, with a clawfoot tub nestled in an attached bath and a quiet view of the trees from our balcony.
I loved it instantly. Friday night we’d gone into town for dinner, just a small restaurant, nothing fancy, then wandered the quiet streets like we used to, hand in hand.
It was nice—not just the food and the walk, but the way we’d slipped into old habits, talking and dreaming as if we were still those kids at the beginning of us.
Our future, just the two of us, growing old together.
No talk of babies, no big families, no outside chatter. Just Cam and me.
For those few hours, I could let myself forget everything—the ache, the nagging sense of inadequacy that never quite left me.
I pretended so well I almost believed it, at least until morning.
That night, we’d made love and Cam had whispered how much I meant to him as he moved inside me, and I’d wrapped myself around him, wanting to soak up every second.
When I nudged him for another round, he’d laughed and rolled right over for me.
Afterward, we sat together in the tub, steam curling around us, and it felt like a second honeymoon.
I was happy we still had a whole day ahead to enjoy.
I woke early and slipped out onto the balcony, cup of coffee in hand, just staring out at untouched woods when Cam joined me with his own mug.
“Mrs. Cooper is sweet, but I don’t think she listens very well,” he said, settling into the chair beside mine.
I laughed. “She’s too busy talking to listen.”
It was true. The Coopers ran the B they were an older couple, friendly as could be, but Mrs. Cooper had a gift for chatter. She never slowed down long enough to take anything in.
“I asked for black coffee three times,” Cam said, tipping his mug so I could see the milky color, “and she just kept talking while she loaded it with sugar and cream.”
“Is it undrinkable?” I grinned at him.
He took a long sip and made a face. “Pretty much. But I need the caffeine. Did you see the breakfast spread when you grabbed your coffee?”
I shook my head and glanced back at the woods. “No, nothing was out yet. I was up pretty early, I guess.”
“They’ve got it ready now. Looks way better than this coffee. I thought we could grab something quick before we head out. There’s a little art museum in town—I looked it up, opens at ten. Maybe we can check it out?”
“Sounds good,” I said, draining more of my own disappointing coffee. I’d grown used to the rich lattes I whipped up at home or on the way to work; this was weak stuff in comparison.
We dressed and headed down to the breakfast room, scooping up pastries discreetly—the kind you could eat with your hands. Mrs. Cooper was deep into a conversation with another guest, which gave us the perfect excuse to escape before we got trapped.
“It’s walking distance,” Cam said, reaching for my hand as we left, leading me down the sidewalk.
The town was lovely this time of day, quiet, old buildings painted in faded pastels, everything neat and familiar. The locals nodded as we walked by, and I realized how much I liked it.
“I could get used to living somewhere like this,” I said.
“A small town?” Cam shot me a look.
“Yeah. It’s calm. Peaceful. Doesn’t feel overwhelming.”
“I don’t know,” he said. “It’s a nice place to relax, but the city is where all the opportunities are. There’s no corporate ladder to climb here.”
“There’s more to life than money,” I replied.
He squeezed my hand. “I know.”
At the museum, Cam paid for our tickets, and we slipped inside, letting the hush settle around us.
He seemed more interested in the statues, walking slowly from one to the next, but I was drawn to the wall art.
A painting of a lake caught my eye—a translucent lake, layers of blue and green so clear you could see every fish, every piece of plant life stretching up for the light.
“It’s pretty,” I said as Cam sidled up next to me.
“Different,” he agreed.
The artist’s name was on the little plaque below—a local, apparently.
We drifted along to the next piece, something abstract: a naked woman but all her body parts out of order, breasts high, arms twisted, legs wrong. Cam stared at it, interested.
“Now this,” he said, “this is art.”
I rolled my eyes. “You just want to look at her boobs.”
He laughed, not even denying it. “A woman’s body is a work of art. Even if the pieces have been rearranged.”
Something about his words made me uneasy. Did he look at me and see something all out of place? Was that why he was always searching for more? I tried to shove the thought away. This was supposed to be a good weekend. I didn’t want to ruin it with old doubts.
He took my hand and pulled me onward. The next room was all little figurines, angels and animals and strange, delicate shapes. Cam spent extra time with the terracotta angels. It was funny; neither of us was religious, but he’d always liked angel imagery for some reason.
The next doorway, I hesitated. The art inside was for children—the walls splashed bright with paintings of babies and animals, little hands and soft faces everywhere. I stopped at the threshold, but Cam tugged me forward.
He stopped in front of a piece: a small boy flying a kite, a puppy chasing behind. He stared at it with a longing so deep it made my heart hurt. Tears pricked my eyes. I would never be able to give him that, no matter how much I wished I could.
I’d told myself I’d come to terms with not having children, at least not the traditional way. But there were still other options. We could adopt; we could try surrogacy. We had the resources. He’d never said a child had to be biologically mine. I didn’t understand what kept Cam from pursuing it.
“Cam?” I finally whispered.
He blinked and turned to me as if waking from a dream. “Yeah, babe?”
“We’ve been in here a while.”
He glanced around. “Guess we have. Let’s get lunch—I’m starving.”
Just like that, he was on to the next thing. As if he hadn’t been staring through that painting and seeing his whole lost future. Like it had never happened. Like his desire wasn’t written all over his face.
I followed him out, and we walked to a cute little bistro down the block. We ordered, and he nursed his beer while we waited for the food.
“Cam?” I started, careful.
“Hmm?” His eyes were on his phone for a second, then back on me.
“What if we tried adoption? Or surrogacy?” I twisted my napkin, nerves prickling along my spine.
He barely looked up. “What about it?”
“We could do it. Either one. The longer we wait, the harder it’ll be. My eggs may not work, but we could use your sperm, so the baby would be part of you. I’d be the only outsider, and honestly, that doesn’t bother me…”
He interrupted, “Really? It wouldn’t matter that the baby wasn’t physically part of you, even if it was part of me?”
I shook my head. “No, it wouldn’t. What matters is loving the child. DNA isn’t important to me.”
He studied me, chewing that over. Before he could respond, the waitress brought our plates.
“So, surrogacy.” He took a thoughtful bite of his sandwich.
“I think I’d prefer that. If we need to use donated eggs, that’s fine too—I’d just want to avoid the surrogate being biologically related to the baby.
Just to keep things simple, you know? No messy legal battles down the line.
” I sipped my tea, feeling a little flicker of hope.
Cam wasn’t shutting down the conversation this time; maybe we were finally turning a corner.
Maybe this could be our answer—not the big family he’d once imagined, but maybe two or three kids, if things worked out.
He glanced at his phone when it buzzed and frowned at the message.
“You okay?” I asked.
He shrugged, took another swig of beer. “I think surrogacy could work for us. I’ve actually been meaning to bring it up. I just wasn’t sure when.”
“So what changed?” I pressed. “I feel like I tried to have this talk before, but you weren’t interested.”
He looked away. “I guess… something just shifted. I see things differently now. It could be good for us.”
I smiled. The lump in my chest loosened a little. Maybe with Cam warming to this idea, he’d also be ready to move past the rest. Maybe he’d finally be ready to end our arrangement. I tried not to think about what that might mean for Nate. I could process that another time.
Suddenly, Cam’s phone rang loud enough to make me jump. He stared at the screen for a long moment, lips pressed tight, before silencing it.
“If you have to take that, go ahead,” I told him.
He shook his head and tucked it away, but I could see his thoughts were already gone, somewhere else.
“Livi, there’s something I want to talk about. About the night of our anniversary.”
My fork slipped from my hand and clattered onto the plate. I’d waited so long for him to open up, and now, of all times, he wanted to talk about this?
“Okay,” I said quietly. I steeled myself, bracing for whatever was coming.
He looked miserable, eyes darting everywhere but at me.
“I don’t even know how to start,” he whispered. “But please, try to see it from a positive perspective. Hurting you is the last thing I want to do.”
My heart dropped like a stone. I couldn’t take more bad news; I was already running on fumes.
His phone rang again and he grimaced in annoyance, this time glancing briefly at the screen.
“I should answer this,” he said. “If she’s calling over and over, it must be urgent.”
Her. The word snapped through me. I wanted to ask if it was Lacey but he was already out of his chair, phone pressed to his ear, disappearing fast.