We talked about living arrangements. I admitted how the mansion still felt like his house, even after months of living there. How I felt like a guest rearranging furniture instead of a partner building a home.
He surprised me by saying he would sell it.
“If you want something smaller,” he said, glancing at me, “something that feels like yours too… I’ll do it.”
My stomach twisted at the sincerity in his voice. “I don’t want you giving things up just to prove something.”
“I’m not proving anything,” he replied. “I’m choosing.”
Prenup talk surfaced awkwardly, like an unwanted third party stepping into the room. He brought it up first, voice stiff but direct.
“I didn't want one in the first place,” he said. “But if you want it terminated, if it makes you feel safe, I’ll have it done. For high and only for you.”
I shook my head slowly. “I don’t want your money, Cal. I want your honesty.”
His shoulders lowered slightly, tension releasing in a way that felt almost physical.
“You have it,” he said.
By the time we left the building, my head felt full. Not heavy. Just crowded with too many truths trying to coexist at once.
The drive home was quiet. LA traffic crawled in endless lines of red brake lights and impatient horns, but inside the car, the silence felt almost respectful. Like neither of us wanted to break whatever fragile honesty the session had created.
Cal drove with one hand resting loosely on the steering wheel. After a few minutes, his other hand reached across the console and settled gently on my thigh.
Not possessive. Not demanding.
Just… there.
I stared out the window, watching palm trees blur past, sunlight fading into gold. I didn’t move his hand away.
But I didn’t lace my fingers with his either.
When we pulled into the garage, he parked but didn’t turn the engine off immediately. The car hummed quietly around us, the sound filling the space where words should have been.
“I meant it,” he said finally.
I turned slightly toward him. “All of it?”
“All of it.”
“I know,” I replied softly.
He studied my face carefully, his brows pulling together. “You don’t believe it yet.”
I exhaled slowly. “I want to.”
He nodded once, accepting the honesty without argument. Then he shut the engine off.
Inside, the house was unusually quiet. Eli sat sprawled on the living room couch, headphones draped around his neck, tablet balanced against his knees. He glanced up briefly when we walked in.
“Good session?” he asked casually.
“Long one,” I said, forcing a small smile.
He nodded like that explained everything and returned to his game.
Cal headed upstairs first, shoulders slightly tense, footsteps measured. I followed slower, one hand resting absentmindedly on my stomach as the baby shifted gently beneath my palm.
