Chapter 7
Naomi
I woke slowly, confused by the unfamiliar ceiling above me. For one peaceful second, I couldn’t remember where I was. Then everything came rushing back.
Patrick. The kitchen. My wedding ring resting beside his coffee mug. The paternity test.
I closed my eyes again. I wasn’t going to start my day there.
I took a slow breath and rested my hand against my stomach.
“Good morning,” I whispered.
The words came naturally. They surprised me anyway. A small smile touched my lips. No matter what had happened between Patrick and me, this tiny life was still here, still growing, still depending on me.
A gentle knock sounded against the bedroom door.
“You awake?” Hannah called.
“Yeah.”
She opened the door just enough to peek inside.
“I made oatmeal.”
I smiled faintly.
“You know exactly how to convince me to get out of bed.”
“I was hoping pregnancy cravings hadn’t started yet.”
“I don’t think they have.”
“Good.” She grinned. “Because I wasn’t prepared to hunt down pickles and ice cream before eight in the morning.”
Despite everything, I laughed. It felt strange. Almost guilty. Hannah seemed relieved to hear it.
“I’ll meet you downstairs,” she said.
“I’ll be there in a minute.”
She quietly closed the door behind her. I sat on the edge of the bed for a moment before standing.
The guest room had always been comfortable.
I’d spent plenty of nights here over the years after movie marathons, birthdays, and late-night conversations that stretched long past midnight.
I’d never imagined waking up here because I’d walked away from my marriage.
I pushed the thought aside. Not now.
I padded into the adjoining bathroom and splashed cool water across my face. The woman staring back at me looked exhausted. There were faint shadows beneath my eyes. My hair was a mess. I’d cried enough yesterday that my eyelids still looked swollen.
I rested both hands on the edge of the sink.
“You need to eat,” I told her.
Not because I was hungry. Because someone else needed me to.
The realization shifted something inside me.
For years, every decision about pregnancy had been about hope.
Appointments. Medication. Blood tests. Waiting.
Now it was different. This wasn’t about hoping anymore.
This was about protecting the little life already growing inside me.
I wasn’t doing that if I skipped meals because my heart was broken.
I changed into clean clothes before heading downstairs. The smell of cinnamon greeted me halfway down the staircase.
Hannah looked up from the stove.
“There she is.”
“You made enough for an army.”
“I wasn’t sure how hungry pregnant women are.”
“I don’t think we all come with the same instruction manual.”
“I figured it couldn’t hurt.”
She carried two bowls to the table. Fresh berries sat beside them. Orange juice. Toast. A plate of sliced bananas.
I raised an eyebrow.
“You’ve done research.”
“I spent twenty minutes online.”
“I can tell.”
She shrugged.
“I panicked.”
That earned another smile. She waited until I’d taken my first bite before speaking again.
“How are you feeling?”
I thought about the question. There were too many answers. Heartbroken. Angry. Confused. Terrified. Hopeful. All of them were true.
“I don’t know.”
“I think that’s a perfectly reasonable answer.”
“I keep expecting to wake up and discover yesterday didn’t happen.”
She reached across the table and squeezed my hand.
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I.”
We ate quietly for a few minutes. The oatmeal settled warmly in my stomach. For the first time since leaving home, I noticed how hungry I’d been. I finished every bite. Hannah smiled to herself but wisely didn’t comment.
When I carried my bowl to the sink, my hand drifted back to my stomach again. The movement had already become instinct.
“I need to take care of this baby.”
“You will.”
“I have to.” I turned toward her. “I can’t spend every minute replaying what happened.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.” The admission escaped before I could stop it. “I want to replay every word until I understand how we got here.”
Hannah’s expression softened.
“I know.”
“But every time I do,” I said, resting my palm gently over my abdomen, “my heart starts racing.”
Silence settled between us.
“I don’t want that.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“This baby doesn’t deserve to spend the next few months inside a mother who’s constantly anxious.” I blinked away fresh tears. “I’ve already spent eight years praying I’d get this chance. I’m not letting yesterday steal this too.”
Hannah stepped closer.
“It won’t.”
“I have to believe that.”
She wrapped her arms around me. I hugged her back carefully.
“I’m scared.”
“I know.”
“What if the stress—”
She gently pulled away before I could finish.
“Don’t do that to yourself.”
“I’m trying not to.”
“Then start there.” She brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. “One meal.”
I nodded.
“One nap.”
Another nod.
“One walk if you feel up to it.”
A tiny smile found its way onto my face.
“You’re making me a schedule.”
“I’m giving you permission to take care of yourself.”
“I don’t need permission.”
“No.” She smiled gently. “But I think you need reminding.”
I looked around the warm kitchen. The morning sunlight spilled across the floor.
Birds chirped somewhere outside. For the first time since leaving home, I noticed that the world hadn’t stopped turning.
My marriage had cracked open. My heart had gone with it.
But life hadn’t stopped. Neither had this baby.
I rested my hand over my stomach one last time.
“I can’t control what Patrick does next.” Hannah stayed quiet. “I can’t control whether he understands what he did.” Another quiet nod. “But I can control this.”
I looked down at the tiny life I’d waited eight years to carry.
“You deserve one parent who feels safe.”
The words settled over me with unexpected certainty.
I didn’t know what my marriage was going to become.
I didn’t know whether Patrick could ever rebuild what he’d broken.
Those answers would come later. Right now, I had one job.
Protect my peace. Because this baby deserved a mother who chose it every single day.
When Hannah left to pick up a few groceries, I carried my overnight bag back upstairs. I’d packed in a hurry yesterday. A couple of sweaters. Toiletries. Phone charger. Underwear. I’d told myself I was leaving for a night. Maybe two. I hadn’t let myself think beyond that.
I knelt beside the bed and unzipped the bag.
Everything inside had been folded neatly.
That didn’t surprise me. I’d always packed that way.
One item at a time, I began placing my clothes in the empty dresser Hannah had cleared for me.
The simple routine helped. Fold. Place. Close the drawer.
It gave my hands something to do while my mind threatened to wander somewhere I wasn’t ready to follow.
A small envelope slid from between two sweaters and landed on the carpet. I frowned. I didn’t remember packing an envelope. I picked it up. The flap had never been sealed. My stomach tightened the moment I recognized Patrick’s handwriting.
I sat down slowly on the edge of the bed and pulled out the contents.
Anniversary cards. I’d tucked them into my overnight bag months ago after we’d reorganized our bedroom closet, meaning to move them into a keepsake box.
I’d forgotten they were there. Now they rested in my lap like little pieces of another life.
The first card was from our first anniversary. The edges were slightly worn from being handled so many times. I opened it carefully.
Naomi, I still can’t believe I get to call you my wife. If our first year together was this wonderful, I can’t wait to see what the next fifty look like. Thank you for choosing me every single day. I love you. Patrick.
I smiled before I could stop myself. I remembered that dinner, the tiny Italian restaurant where the waiter had accidentally dropped an entire basket of bread onto our table. Patrick had laughed so hard he’d nearly cried. I’d teased him for weeks afterward.
I set the card aside and reached for another. Our third anniversary.
To my favorite person. Life hasn’t gone exactly the way we imagined, but there’s no one I’d rather face it with. Every hard day is easier because you’re beside me. Forever.
Another. Our fifth. The year we’d started fertility treatment.
No matter what happens, we’ll get through it together. We always do.
My vision blurred. I blinked until the words came back into focus.
There were more. Small notes tucked inside cards.
A birthday message scribbled on hotel stationery because he’d forgotten to buy a card before surprising me with a weekend away.
A tiny folded piece of paper he’d slipped into my lunch before one of my first specialist appointments.
Whatever today brings, you won’t face it alone.
I closed my eyes. The memories came easily.
Patrick dancing with me in the kitchen while dinner burned.
Patrick driving across town at midnight because I’d mentioned craving cheesecake.
Patrick holding my hand in waiting rooms. Patrick sitting beside me after every negative pregnancy test, refusing to let me apologize for something that had never been my fault.
The tears finally came. Not because I doubted he’d loved me. I never had. Not for a single second. That was what hurt so much.
I rested the cards against my knees.
“I know you love me.”
The words sounded painfully true. Love had never been the question.
Trust was. I’d spent all night trying to understand how a man could write those cards, how a man could stand beside me through eight years of heartbreak, and still look at me long enough to wonder if another man’s baby was growing inside me. It didn’t make sense.