“Pregnancy can feel overwhelming,” she continues. “You’ll learn what’s happening to your body, what to expect during labour, and how to manage the emotional side of becoming a parent. No question is too small, no fear too silly.”
I swallow, rubbing my palms against my thighs.
“This is a safe space,” Jan adds gently. “For you . . . and for your partners.”
She moves on, chatting about breathing techniques, birth plans, what the sessions will cover. I nod along, even take a few notes, but my attention keeps drifting to the empty chair beside me. To the low murmur of voices. To the quiet reminder that this was never supposed to be something I did alone.
“And now,” Jan says brightly, clapping again, “I’d like everyone to partner up. Turn to the person you came with. If you’re here solo, don’t worry, we’ll make sure no one’s left out.”
Heat creeps up my neck.
I force my shoulders back and lift my chin. I’ll manage. I always do.
Then, the door opens.
I don’t even look at first, just register the change in air, the subtle shift in the room. Then boots sound against the floor, heavy, familiar.
My heart stumbles as I turn. Kade stands in the doorway, slightly out of breath, kutte still on, eyes scanning the room until they land on me. Relief flashes across his face before he schools it into something more cautious.
For a split second, I forget how to breathe.
Jan smiles at him. “You must be joining us?”
“Yeah,” he says, voice low. “Sorry I’m late.”
He doesn’t look away from me as he walks over, pulls the empty chair beside mine, and sits. Close enough that our arms almost touch.
Almost.
I stare straight ahead, my pulse roaring in my ears, and against my will, something inside me eases. Just a fraction, like a knot loosening.
Jan beams. “Perfect timing. Go ahead and pair up.”
Kade shifts, angling his body towards mine, respectful. Careful.
“Guess I’m your partner,” he murmurs.
I risk a glance at him. He looks nervous, completely out of place in a room full of pastel posters and birthing charts.
And despite everything—despite the hurt, the anger, the mess of us—I’m almost glad I’m not sitting alone.
“We’re going to do something simple now,” says Jan. “Partners, if you’re comfortable, I’d like you to connect with your baby in a way that feels right. That might be a hand on the bump. It might be holding hands. There’s no pressure.”
The room fills with soft movement. Chairs creak as everyone gets comfortable.
I freeze.
Kade doesn’t move.
I glance at him from the corner of my eye. He’s watching me, not my stomach. His expression is careful, like he’s afraid one wrong move will send me running again.
Slowly, he lifts his hand and lets it hover between us.
Not touching, but close enough I can feel the heat.
“Is this okay?” he asks quietly.
I swallow and give a small nod.
