Page 28 of Not Because You Loved Me

Five Days Later

It took four full days to get my internal clock back on schedule, unpack my luggage, and make my house feel like home again.

Trent had given me physical space since our conversation in his truck by the river. He didn't drop by unannounced, and he didn't pressure me to see him. But he didn't disappear either. He kept up the steady string of morning texts, checking in on how I was, asking if I needed help to grab groceries, and sending pictures from his job sites.

In the quiet hours of those four days, I spent a lot of time processing what he’d told me in the park.

For months, I had been furious at the sheer stupidity of his silence, how he’d ignored obvious signs, jumped to wild conclusions, and proposed out of a sense of duty without asking me a single direct question. But hearing him admit to grieving the baby changed my perception.

He hadn't just made a clueless mistake out of panic; he’d spent months falling in love with a future and a child that didn’t exist. And when the illusion shattered, he had to mourn it all alone while watching me walk away.

I was learning to see things from his point of view. And more than that, I was working on doing my part, too. No more withholding. No more walls.

So when Cynthia sent me a tentative text yesterday afternoon:

I know you just got back and probably need rest, but if you’re up for it, I’d love to sit and talk.

No pressure at all, Kat.

I didn't ignore it, and I didn't hide it.

Before I pulled out of my driveway, I typed out a quick text to Trent:

Heading over to your parents' house. Your mom asked if we could talk, and I think it’s time.

He responded almost instantly with:

Thank you for telling me, Kat. Take all the time you need. Mom’s been hoping for this, but if it gets overwhelming, you can walk away anytime.

I smiled softly at my screen, set the phone in the cup holder, and drove over.

When I pulled up to the Prescott house, the front yard was immaculate, and in the driveway was Davis’s work truck.

I walked around to the back gate, pushing it open to find Cynthia sitting on a cushioned lounge chair on the back deck, surrounded by throw pillows, two oversized water tumblers, and a thick throw blanket over her legs despite the warm May sunshine.

At thirty-six weeks, she was unmistakably pregnant. Her belly was a prominent, beautiful sphere under her soft jersey dress, and her ankles were swollen.

Standing about twenty feet away in the yard was Davis. He had a pair of hedge clippers in his hands and was meticulously trimming a row of cedar bushes that looked like they had already been trimmed yesterday.

The moment the gate clicked, Davis snapped his head around. When he saw me, his shoulders dropped in visible relief, but he didn't put the clippers down. He gave me a nod, "Hey, Kat. Good to see you back."

"Hi, Davis," I replied, giving him a genuine smile.

I knew he wasn't pretending to do yard work because he didn't trust me; the man was hovering because he loved his wife so fiercely that he couldn't stand being more than twenty feet away from her while she was in her final home stretch of this high-risk pregnancy.

"I'll be right over here if either of you need anything," he added, giving Cynthia a pointed, protective look before turning back to his bushes.

She let out a soft, fond chuckle, rolling her eyes playfully as I walked up the deck stairs. "He hasn't left my side for more than twenty minutes since he found out," she murmured, her voice laced with deep affection. "I think he’s trimmed those bushes three times this week."

"He loves you," I said, stepping closer. "It's sweet."

"Kat..." Cynthia’s eyes met mine, and the light teasing vanished, replaced by an earnest, vulnerable shine. She started to push herself up from the low chair, but I quickly stepped forward, waving my hands.

"Don't get up, please," I said, taking a chair across from her. "You're supposed to be resting."

Cynthia sank back down with a grateful sigh, setting her hands over the top of her bump. "Thank you for coming," she began, her voice trembling slightly. "I know I have no right to ask anything of you after... after the mess I created."

I kept my hands folded in my lap, listening intently.