“You did,” I whispered. “Eventually.”
He pulled back. Looked at me.
“I blocked her. Before the trip. But she must’ve used someone else’s phone. I didn’t know.”
I nodded. “I believe you.”
He cupped my face. “I’m done letting her in. Done letting anyone come between us.”
I searched his eyes. Saw something shift. Not perfection. Not fixed. But… intent.
“I want to be better,” he said. “Not just for the baby. For you. I’m going to therapy. Starting next week. Meetings too. I’m not promising I won’t fuck up. But I’m promising I’ll fight it.”
My throat closed.
He kissed me. Soft. Slow.
When he pulled back. I blurted out the words that has been on top of my tongue for years.
“I love you Cal.”
The words hung. Real. Heavy.
He didn't say them back. Not yet.
But I let him hold me.
Hoping this doesn't blow up in my first.
Downstairs the party died fast. People left quietly.
Later, after Eli was in bed, Cal and I sat on the terrace. City lights below.
He pulled me into his lap. Hand on my bump.
“I’m proud of you,” he said. “Tonight. You stood up.”
“I had to.”
He nodded. “I know.”
We stayed like that. Quiet.
The baby kicked.
He smiled against my neck. “See? Even he’s proud.”
I laughed. Soft.
Hope didn’t feel like sunburn anymore.
It felt like dawn.
Fragile.
Possible.
And maybe, just maybe, real.
