When I look up again, he’s smiling.
“I deserved it,” he admits. “And I’ll be honest, I tortured myself every night imagining you’d met the perfect guy.”
I snort despite myself. “Don’t tell Pete that. He’ll get a big head.”
He taps his thumb gently against the table, eyes drifting back to his mug.
“When I picture your future,” he says quietly, “I see you with a guy like Pete.” He swallows then lifts his gaze to mine. “Safe. Sensible. Perfect.” His mouth twitches, humourless. “He’d be a great husband, a reliable stepdad.”
“Kade,” I whisper, but he shakes his head, already too far inside his own thoughts.
“And I’d be on the sidelines,” he goes on, his voice roughening, “watching him raise my son, taking care of you.” His jaw clenches. “He’d make the decisions about contact. Take him to football practice.” He exhales shakily. “Probably cook fucking dinner with vegetables.”
A broken sound escapes him as he scrubs his hands over his face. “I’d deserve it,” he mutters. “Every bit of pain that comes with you moving on, I’d deserve every fucking second.”
I’m out of my chair before I’ve fully decided to move. I step around the table and tug his hands away from his face.
Tears streak his cheeks. The sight of them nearly undoes me.
“I’ll never love anyone like I love you, Eden,” he whispers.
I pull him into me without thinking. He sags, resting his head against my stomach, his arms wrapping tight around my waist, clinging like I wish he’d done when I was the one falling apart.
“When I think about everything I put you through,” he sobs, breath hitching, “I hate myself. You deserved better. You still do.” His grip tightens. “You deserve that man.”
I cup his face, forcing him to look at me, wiping his tears with my thumbs.
“Aren’t you becoming that man?” I ask softly. “Isn’t that why you’re making these changes?”
He nods, barely.
“Then don’t give up,” I say firmly, “just because your mind is torturing you with worst-case versions of my future.” My voicetrembles, but I hold his gaze. “I never said I was going anywhere, Kade.”
We stay like that for a few silent minutes, until the front door opens.
I step back instinctively, my hands already moving, collecting the mugs from the table as Kade wipes his face.
“I grabbed steak for dinner.” Martha’s voice floats in from the hall. “That guy who runs the butchers is hot . . .” Her words trail off when she enters the kitchen and spots Kade there. “Oh. I only got enough for two.”
Kade straightens, scrubbing a hand over his face. I focus on stacking the cups, on the clink of ceramic, on anything that isn’t the way my chest feels too tight.
“I’m not staying,” he says quietly. “In fact, I should go.”
I nod. “There’s another antenatal class,” I say, keeping my voice light. “If you want to grab a coffee before, we could do that.”
His eyes lift to mine, hope flickering there before he reins it in. “I’d like that,” he says.
“Great. Half-hour before at the café across the way?”
He gives a small nod, grabs his jacket, and lets himself out with a soft click of the door.
The silence that follows feels heavier than before.
Martha watches me for a beat then exhales. “Okay,” she says. “Talk to me.”
I let out a shaky laugh and sink back into my chair. “He surprised me,” I admit. “With a 3D scan.”
Her eyes widen instantly. “Shut up.”
