48. Kate
Chapter Forty-Eight
Kate
Canton, Cardiff—September
The familiar smell hit me first—scented candles and that same bloody floor cleaner I’d forgotten to cancel the subscription for months ago.
At this point, I was basically in a pyramid scheme that I couldn’t get out of.
My house had always smelled like that: calm, controlled, like the version of me who used to run her life on spreadsheets and colour-coded planners, terrified of letting anything slip.
Aside from my birth control, apparently.
I stood in the middle of my small lounge and looked around at the sea of boxes, bubble wrap, and old memories. It was a mess. I think my eye actually started twitching.
Boxes half-packed. My framed doctorate leaning against the wall. My throw pillows in a pile like they’d lost their purpose. It all felt surreal. And stranger still was bringing Jordan here, knowing we weren’t staying.
He’d insisted on helping me pack my old life up.
I think he was curious to see it for himself.
Walk through the rooms where I built this version of me.
The one before him. But the truth was, despite this house being my new beginning at one time, I’d lived there less than a year, so the sentimentality just wasn’t there.
It was more about what it represented. This house was the first big thing I’d bought alone.
A badge of honour for my newly single life and independence.
I wasn’t taking much, just what mattered.
The rest was going into storage. I didn’t have much sentimental stuff.
I’d binned most of it in a clear-out after the divorce.
But now I was moving into Jordan’s flat in London until we could find something bigger for when the baby arrived.
In the weeks after I told him I was pregnant, we’d spoken at length about everything.
Where we’d live, how we’d take the baby with us on the road.
How he couldn’t wait to become a dad. I don’t know why I expected him to be anything less than amazing.
Maybe self-doubt was hard wired into me by now.
That expectation that once things got hard, people left.
But the reality with Jordan couldn’t have been more different.
The day after, he couldn’t stop touching me and smiling.
He’d insisted on coming with me to the doctor’s appointment that confirmed it, and held my hair back through every mad dash of morning sickness.
I must have been staring into oblivion with my thoughts. Jordan had been watching me for a while before he asked, “You okay?” as he filled a box with some old books destined for the charity shop.
“Yeah, it just feels weird. Packing up all this again…I’m not sad, though.” I shook my head with a gentle smile.
“You’re allowed to be sad, you know. You worked hard for all this. Just because you’re moving on to something better doesn’t mean you can’t feel sad.”
I got up off the floor and moved toward him.
I slinked my arms around his neck and looked into his eyes.
“I used to sit in here alone most nights, wondering if I’d ever find this ever again.
” I sighed. “And now the man of my dreams is helping me pack it all up.” I looked up into those big brown eyes of his.
“Well, I am the stuff dreams are made of,” he said with a cheeky glint in his eyes. Then he kissed me. Slowly, perfectly. Just to remind me that I wasn’t giving up. I was moving on. Finding a new dream.
I’d worked so hard for this place. Built it brick by metaphorical brick.
Every room held a version of me. The woman who was independent.
Who could hang shelves and wallpaper, and pretend it didn’t sting when her marriage quietly crumbled.
The woman who thought independence meant not needing anyone.
Now I was packing it all up. Not because I hadn’t loved this life.
But because I’d finally found something I loved more. Someone I loved more.
Well, two someones, now.
I rested my hand on my stomach. No bump yet, just a lot of bloating and a new awareness in how my jeans fastened. But I felt different. Like someone had spun me around a few times and finally pointed me in the right direction.
I wasn’t selling the house in the end. Jordan and I had agreed on that. I’d worked too hard for it to let it go. But I was renting it out. Turning it into something useful. That felt powerful in its own way, that we’d made a decision together.
The hard part was still ahead, though.
My parents.
God, I was already sweating.
We’d invited them to dinner. A quiet country pub not far from their place in Penarth.
The type with low ceilings, exposed beams, brass tankards hung in a line from the bar, and a roaring hearth in the middle.
They thought Jordan was just visiting. That we were still dating.
They had no idea I was pregnant. Or moving out.
Or jacking it all in for a man they hadn’t even met yet.
My parents weren’t bad people. They’d always loved me in the best way they knew how. But I was their only child, and somewhere along the way, I think I became their proof. The evidence that they’d done something right. Especially for Mum.
Motherhood hadn’t come naturally to her.
I’d figured that out over the years. Not from anything she said, but from everything she didn’t.
She loved me, yes, there was no doubt. But her love came with blueprints and benchmarks.
The right job. The right husband. The right version of me to show off to the world.
Dad was softer, someone who I could be more open with. We probably had the closer relationship. He was a teacher, so we’d spent hours playing tennis or cricket together over the summer when I was a kid. Our deeper conversations naturally slipped in between matches. But Mum was the boss.
I’d always be grateful for the opportunities they gave me. But sometimes, I ached for a simpler relationship. Love without conditions.
And now, here I was, about to blow the whole bloody blueprint up. I just had to convince her that her daughter getting knocked up and living with tennis’ current golden boy was a good thing.
Jordan knew what we were walking in to. Still, he stood by me, steady as ever. As we walked into the pub, he pulled me back for a second.
“Remember I’m here, okay? You need me, you say.” And I believed him. Because he hadn’t flinched. He’d followed me after I broke. He’d stepped up when the test turned pink. He’d picked up the pieces of it all and put them back together, holding me like I was the best thing on Earth.
Mum watched us like a hawk, the way I knew she would.
She thrived on suspicion and judgement, slipping them into conversation as easily as buttering bread.
Elegant, immaculately turned out, she was the kind of woman who wore scrutiny like perfume.
I’d inherited her cheekbones and her sharp eyes, though sometimes I wished I hadn’t.
To her credit, she was polite enough to Jordan. Asked about his matches, his family. All the expected niceties. But her tone had that glint to it, like she was examining him under a microscope, waiting for something not to add up.
What I hadn’t expected was how quickly Dad and Jordan hit it off. Within minutes, they were bantering like old mates, trading Aussie-Welsh digs and dissecting the last Lions tour as if the outcome had personally depended on them.
I waited. Waited until we were almost done with the meal. Then I looked at Jordan. He met my eyes and gave a small nod, squeezing my hand under the table.
“Mum…Dad.” My voice was steady, but my heart was thudding. “We…erm… we need to tell you something.”
Forks paused mid-air. Mum’s eyes narrowed, already on alert.
“You know I’ve been in the States with Jordan for the past month,” I began.
Mum nodded slowly, her brows furrowed.
“Well…I didn’t exactly come back alone.”
I paused.
“I’m…pregnant… we’re having a baby.”
There was nothing but silence. Painful, awkward, agonising silence.
“And,” I added just to break it, my breath hitching slightly, “I’m taking a break from work. I’m going with Jordan. For now.”
Mum stared like I’d grown a second head. “Kate, you can’t be serious.” Dad just stayed silent. Mulling.
“I am,” I said, my voice tightening. “Please, just listen…”
“You’ve only known him five minutes!”
I braced. Expected Jordan to stay quiet. To let me handle it. But he didn’t.
He covered my hand with his, grounding me. And then looked straight at them.
“With respect,” he said calmly, “your daughter’s not some impulsive kid. She’s the most thoughtful, grounded person I’ve ever known. She didn’t take this lightly. Neither did I.”
Mum’s mouth tightened. “And you think dragging her across the world pregnant is what’s best for her?”
“I think showing up for her is what’s best,” Jordan said, his voice firm now. “This wasn’t planned, but it’s happening. And we made the decision together. I want to raise our baby side by side. I want Kate to know she’s not alone. Not now. Not ever.”
He took a breath, jaw clenched.
“This baby was a surprise, but it’s the best one of my life. And I love Kate more than anything.”
Dad was watching him closely now, and something shifted in his expression. Because Jordan wasn’t bluffing. His voice was so calm and sure, I knew he meant it. I leaned into him, his arm instinctively wrapping around me, protectively.
I looked at Mum. Her lips were pressed into a thin line. But I saw it, the glint of something wet in her eyes. Then Dad cleared his throat.
“Well,” he said, his gaze softening on me, “you seem happy, sweetheart.”
Dad could see what this meant to me. He knew how brutal the divorce and everything that trailed after it had been. He was the only one who didn’t try to gloss over it in the months that followed. He didn’t always have the right words, but he showed up. The same way he was showing up now.
“I am,” I whispered. “Scared, yeah. But really happy.”
“Then that’s all that matters, love.”
He reached out and rested his hand over mine.
Mum looked ready to interject, her lips parted. But she caught Dad’s expression. The way he looked at me. The way he looked at Jordan.
And she said nothing. Which, somehow, meant more than anything else she could have said.
Later, I excused myself to the bathroom, heart thudding at the thought of leaving Jordan alone with them. But when I came back…
Mum was smiling at him. Properly smiling. I don’t know what he said, but his hand was resting on the table as he sat back in that easy, grounded way he had when he’d made his mind up about something. And for the first time in a long, long time, I didn’t feel like I was defending my life.
I was living it.