“Come on,” I say softly. “I’ll show you inside.”
I help her out of the car, and we walk up the front path. Inside, the entry opens into a wide, light-filled space—hardwood floors, high ceilings, and the living room flows into the dining area and kitchen.
“Wow,” she says under her breath. “This is so much bigger than my place.”
“Three bedrooms, two and a half baths. Bought it earlier this year. After the divorce.”
She wanders into the living room, fingers brushing the back of the couch. “I love the fireplace.”
“It’s gas. Easy to use. Nice on cold mornings.”
She moves to the windows overlooking the backyard. “I remember this backyard. Beautiful.”
“There’s plenty of space for a swing set or sandbox or whatever she needs.”
She turns toward me, something unreadable flickering in her expression.
“Come upstairs,” I say quietly. “There’s something I want to show you.”
I lead her up the staircase. The guest room is on the left. My room at the end of the hall. But it’s the room on the right I open.
The nursery.
Soft lavender walls. The crib that matches the one at her house. A changing table. A bookshelf filled with baby books and toys and more space for whatever she ends up loving.
Natalie’s hand lifts to her mouth.
“Jake,” she whispers.
“I know we haven’t talked about custody or any of the logistics.” I keep my voice low. “But I want her to have a space here. A room that’s hers. So when she’s with me, she’s not just visiting.”
The words feel wrong even as I say them. When she’s with me. Like we’ll be handing her back and forth, splitting time, dividing our daughter’s life into shifts.
It’s not what I want. What I want is Natalie here every night. The baby down the hall. All of us under one roof, building something real together.
She steps inside like she’s afraid she’ll disturb the air. She touches the crib rail, gentle and careful.
“This is perfect,” she says quietly.
“You think so?”
“Yeah. It’s exactly what I pictured.”
I lean against the doorframe, watching her hand drift over her belly. Everything about her in this moment makes something tighten in my chest.
“Nat,” I say. “Can I say something?”
She looks up immediately. “Of course.”
“I know you love your place. And Blair’s been a great landlord. But I’ve been thinking…” I exhale, trying to find the right words. “You’re renting month to month.”
“Yeah.”
“And after the baby comes, after maternity leave, you’re going to need support. Someone who can help with the day-to-day.”
She’s watching me without blinking.
“I have space,” I say, crossing to stand in front of her. “Real space. A house that can be a home for all of us. I’m not asking for an answer now. I’m just putting it out there. If you ever want to live here. With me.”
