“I am,” I admit. “Everywhere I can without crossing lines I can’t uncross.”
“And?”
I shake my head. “Nothing. He meant it. He really is a ghost.”
Addison nods once. “Some people are built that way.”
My hand drifts to my stomach without thinking, and Addison notices immediately. She always does.
“We talked about this already,” she starts gently. “But I’m going to ask again because it’s my job as your best friend.”
I meet her gaze as she asks, “You’re sure you want to keep it?”
No judgment. No pressure. Just truth.
There it is. The question that’s been circling my life like a patient predator. I look down at my hands, at the faint tremor I haven’t quite mastered yet.
“The window closes soon,” she reminds me.
“I know.”
Silence stretches between us, thick but not uncomfortable. Addison doesn’t fill it. She waits because she’s always respected silence when it matters.
“I don’t want to make this decision because I’m scared,” I admit. “Or because I’m alone. Or because part of me is still stuck on a man who disappeared.”
She studies me carefully. “And are you?”
“Scared?” I huff a quiet laugh. “Terrified.”
“Stuck on him?”
I hesitate. Just for a moment. “I think… he’s part of the story, not the reason.”
Addison exhales, slow and measured. “And the baby?”
I press my palm flat against my stomach, the gesture unconscious now, ingrained. “The baby is real, present, and definitely not going anywhere.”
She leans back, eyes never leaving mine. “Do you want this, Kate?”
“Yes,” I confess, the answer immediate and unshakable. “I do.”
It surprises me with its clarity. The way it settles in my chest instead of tightening it. Love may have failed me—romantic love, at least—but this feels different. It’s quieter and more honest.
“I don’t need a fairytale,” I continue, voice steadier now. “I just need to know I can give someone a safe, solid life. I can do that.I know I can.”
Addison smiles then, small and fierce. “You’re going to be an incredible mom.”
Emotion swells, sharp and sudden. I blink hard. “You don’t think I’m running from something?”
“I think,” she smiles gently, “you’re running toward something. And that’s not the same thing.”
The relief that floods me is physical. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding, shoulders sagging as the weight of indecision finally lifts.
Addison reaches across the desk and squeezes my hand. “Whatever you need, I’m here. Every appointment. Every panic spiral. Every bad day.”
I smile at her, eyes burning. “You’re the godmother, by the way.”
She grins. “Obviously.”
