“And how’s the baby? Everything good?”
“Everything’s great. She’s measuring right on track. And she’s very active.” As if on cue, I shift in my chair, the baby pressing against my ribs. “Dr. Nelson says everything looks perfect for a late March delivery.”
Mom nods, taking a sip of her coffee. “And how’s Jake?”
It takes me a minute to answer. “Fine.”
She gives me that look again. The one that says she knows I’m lying. “Fine?” she repeats.
“Yeah. Fine.”
“Natalie.”
I set down my mug. “Can we not do this right now?”
“Do what?”
“The thing where you ask me questions you already know the answers to.”
“I don’t know the answers. That’s why I’m asking.” But her expression has shifted from casual to concerned. “What happened?”
I close my eyes. I haven’t told anyone about Valentine’s Day. Not even my friends. I’ve been carrying it around for a week, this heavy thing sitting on my chest, making it hard to breathe.
“He told me he loved me,” I say finally.
Mom goes very still. “And?”
“And asked meto marry him.”
I see the shock hit her face and watch as she tries to put on her professionally neutral face.
“When was this?”
“Last week. Valentine’s Day. He cooked this whole dinner, had flowers and candles.” My throat tightens. “He got down on one knee and told me he loved me. That he wanted us to be a family. That I made his life feel whole.”
The memory makes my chest ache. Because he meant it. Every word. I could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice. Jake loves me. Really, truly loves me. And instead of letting myself feel the joy of that, the wonder of being loved by someone like him, I ran.
“What did you say?”
“I told him I needed space.”
“Space,” Mom repeats, her voice neutral.
“I panicked, okay? He just sprang it on me, and I wasn’t ready, and I needed time to think.”
But that’s not entirely true either. Of course he thought I was ready. Because I’ve been acting like I was ready. I just couldn’t say it out loud when it mattered.
“Have you talked to him since?”
“No.”
“Has he tried to contact you?”
“No.”
And God, that hurts more than I expected. Part of me thought he’d push. That he’d show up at my door, refuse to let me shut him out, fight for us the way he’s been fighting since the beginning.
But he didn’t. He gave me exactly what I asked for.
