It comes again. A tiny tap from the inside, not painful, just insistent. Like a knock. My hands drop to my belly before my brain catches up. I press my palms gently against the stretch of skin where my T-shirt pulls a little tighter.
“Do it again,” I whisper, because apparently I negotiate with my uterus now.
For a heartbeat there is nothing, and I wonder if I imagined it. Then there it is. A little thump. Stronger this time. A swirl and push, like something turning in a small space. Air rushes out of me.
“Hi,” I say, my voice a wrecked little laugh. “Hi, baby girl.”
My eyes sting out of nowhere. I blink too fast, and a tear spills down.
“Your mom’s having a very low-key panic attack about her entire life, but I’m so happy you’re here.”
And in this moment, nothing else matters except her.
twenty-three
. . .
Jake
It’s beentwo weeks since I put up the Christmas tree in her living room, since she let me talk to our daughter through her shirt, since she stood there looking at me like she was letting herself feel something. Two weeks of barely seeing her.
The contract in front of me is a mess of redlines I’m supposed to be cleaning up, but the words won’t stick. My phone is sitting on top of the file, screen dark because it hasn’t lit up once this morning. Or yesterday. Or the day before that. My thumb keeps hovering over it anyway, like I can will a message into existence.
If we were truly nothing but co-parents, this silence wouldn’t hurt. It would be normal. But it hurts like hell, which tells me exactly how far gone I am.
“You look miserable.”
I don’t even hear Wyatt come in until he’s already leaning in my doorway, mug in hand, looking annoyingly rested for someone who has a baby at home.
“I’m fine,” I say, even though we both know I’m lying.
“You waiting for a call?” He nods at the phone in my hand as he steps inside and drops into the chair across from me.
“Nat started at FlixPix,” I say, setting the phone face down. “I just haven’t heard much from her.”
“Oh.” Wyatt raises a brow.
I shrug. “She says work is crazy. She needs to prep for the next day. She’s exhausted. Which is true, I’m sure. But it feels like she’s pulling back.”
“Do you think she is?”
“I don’t know,” I say quietly. “I want to be supportive. She told me the writers’ room would be intense. She warned me this might happen.”
Wyatt watches me for a long moment, and I already know what he’s thinking before he says it. “You’re serious about her.”
I drag a hand down my face. “I miss her. Not seeing her every day makes me feel…” I search for a word that doesn’t make me sound like an idiot. “Untethered.”
Wyatt’s expression shifts, the teasing edge dropping away. He leans forward, his voice quieter. “You need to talk to her, man.”
“I know.”
If I’m already this tied up in knots after two weeks, I need clarity. Sooner rather than later. If she’s pulling away for good, I’d rather know now, before I fall any harder.
“No, I mean really talk to her. Because from where I’m sitting, you’re putting everything into this and she’s keeping you at arm’s length.” He hesitates. “I care about Nat. Youknow I do. But I also care about you. And I don’t want to watch you get hurt by someone who doesn’t feel the same.”
The words land heavier than I expect.
“I’m not saying give up,” he continues. “Just make sure you’re protecting yourself too. You deserve someone who’s all in, Jake. Not someone who only shows up when it’s convenient.”
