I physically recoil. We’ve never said those words aloud before, and I don’t want them now. I silently wish he could take them back.
“Thank you,” I murmur, weakly. I know it’s not what he wants to hear. His eyes flicker with pain for just a second, then it’s gone. Silence stretches between us, a chasm I fear we may never cross.
“How can I raise this baby alone?” The words escape before I even realize it. I consider repeating them, but decide whether he heard it or not, I don’t have the strength to say them again.
“You’re not alone.” He doesn’t reach for me. He doesn’t comfort me. He doesn’t insist that what he says is true. Just whispers the words into the room.
“The hell I’m not!” My anger bursts out. “I cannot marry you. You are married to your fucking job!” I rip the covers back and storm from the room. I freeze just out of sight in the hallway, wishing he’d follow, wrap me in his arms, and promise to do better.
Five minutes pass. Nothing. I turn back into the room. Matt hasn’t moved. He doesn’t look at me, but he knows I’m back.
“I’ll fix this. Give me one chance. I can work less. I will be around more,” he whispers.
I want to make this easy. I want to believe him — but I also need a reason to. I place a hand on my stomach, feel the tiny shift of life there, and I speak aloud. “One chance,” I say, steady and firm.
He nods and leaves the room.
“One chance,” I repeat to the empty space. “We’ll give him one more chance… for you.”
Chapter 48
Liz, March 14
I wake to the sound of running water and a rush of something I haven’t felt in a long time: relief. Matt is here, showering at our house. That’s… promising. I push off the covers and take a deep breath, deciding that today, I’m going to let a little more of the real me show. No filters, no pretense.
I peek into the bathroom. “Good morning,” I call, soft but deliberate, trying to let warmth slip into my voice.
He looks around the curtain, sleepy and slightly surprised. “Morning, baby.”
I grin. “You know… yesterday, I realized I can’t just keep things in all the time.” My hand gestures vaguely, like it doesn’t matter exactly what I’m pointing at. “So I’m practicing being… me. Honest me. With you.”
Matt raises an eyebrow, tilting his head. “Honest you?”
“Yes,” I say, brushing my hair back with a little flourish, letting him see the Liz I’ve been holding back: messy, tired, but present. “I don’t like to clean, I do like to plan, I talk too much when I’m nervous… and sometimes I just say whatever I think, even if it’s not polite.” I lean against the doorway. “Surprise.”
He blinks, unsure if I’m teasing or serious. Then a smile creeps onto his face, slow but real. “I kind of like this version of you.”
I shrug, letting a genuine laugh slip out. “Hoped you might.”
I move closer to him, letting my guard lower just a touch. “So, what about today? What do you want to do? And be honest — I don’t just mean words. I mean… really you.”
He laughs quietly, the tension of last night easing slightly. “I meant what I said yesterday. I just need to drop off a few papers at work. But after that… lunch, a movie. That’s what I want. Honest me.”
I nod, pleased. “Perfect. I’ll look up showtimes and maybe plan a little adventure for us, if you’re up for it.” My voice carries a mix of playfulness and calm assertiveness. I feel it — Liz in control of herself again, letting her real self be seen without apology.
By the time Matt steps out of the shower, dressed and rubbing his damp hair back, I’ve got lunch picked and a movie lined up. I meet his eyes, letting him see that I’m cautious but choosing optimism.
He grins and kisses my head, quiet and steady. I mirror it with a small smile, and for the first time in months, I feel a spark of something powerful: not control over him, not over life, but control over me.
It’s not perfect, and I know there will be tests, but for now, letting the real me show feels… enough.
Chapter 49
Liz, March 14
“Ma’am, can I get you another glass of water?” The waiter’s voice is patient, careful. I’ve been here over an hour, drinking water while Matt is late — again.
I straighten in my chair and smile, but this time it’s deliberate, controlled. “No, thank you. Actually, I’ll have a chicken quesadilla with extra salsa to go.”
