Page 29 of Not Because You Loved Me

"I was scared, Kat," Cynthia whispered, a tear escaping the corner of her eye and trailing down her cheek. "When I missed my period and took that test at your house, I panicked. I was almost forty-four. My blood pressure was already a mess. The thought of starting over, or worse, losing a pregnancy, scared me so badly I felt like I couldn't breathe. So I hid it in your trash like a coward."

She swallowed hard, looking at me with absolute sincerity.

"I had no idea Trent found it," she continued, her voice cracking. "Until he came to us, right before he proposed to you. He was worked up wondering why you hadn’t said anything to him. I saw how he looked at you and stupidly thought it would all work out because you loved each other and someday it would just be a funny story. But then Davis gave the ‘do the right thing’ speech and then just like that, Trent proposed, I still hadn’t told Davis…” she took a deep breath, rubbing her belly, before continuing, “And when everything blew up on New Year’s... I was so paralyzed by my own fear that I let the lie hang there. I let you bear the brunt of his sudden change, and I let him carry a burden that belonged to me and Davis. I hurt my son, and I hurt you.”

As if on cue, Cynthia suddenly paused mid-breath. Her hand tightened over her lower abdomen, her brows knitting together as her face went pale. She let out a slow, focused exhale through her nose.

From the yard, the sharp snap of hedge clippers instantly stopped. Davis dropped the tool onto the grass and was up the deck stairs in three giant strides, crouching beside Cynthia’s chair and taking her hand.

"Breathe, Cyn," Davis murmured softly, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. "Tightness again?"

"Just… Braxton Hicks," Cynthia gasped out softly, closing her eyes for five seconds until her abdominal muscles relaxed. She let out a long breath, opening her eyes to look at her husband. "I'm okay. It passed."

Davis kissed her forehead, keeping his hand firmly wrapped around hers, but looked at me. "She’s been getting a few of those this week. The doctor says it’s normal, just her body prepping."

Cynthia took a sip of her water, saying, “For something people call false contractions, they sure don't feel fake.”

"Thirty-six weeks is close," I said, gentler now, watching the beautiful bond between Cynthia and Davis. "You're almost at the finish line."

Davis gave her hand one last squeeze before stepping back toward the deck railing, giving us space while staying well within arm's reach.

Cynthia looked back at me, her eyes red-rimmed. "I don't expect you to forget what happened, Kat. But I needed you to hear me say I am so, so sorry. For all of it."

I took a deep breath, feeling the last lingering edges of my resentment slip away. Sitting here, seeing her reality, seeing Davis’s devotion, and knowing how much work Trent had done to own his part, I realized I didn't want to carry anger anymore.

"I forgive you, Cynthia," I said, meaning every word. "Truly. Healthcare scares can make people do irrational things. What matters now is that you and the baby stay healthy."

Cynthia covered her mouth with her hand, a fresh wave of tears spilling over, and nodded repeatedly. "Thank you, Kat. Thank you."

We sat together for another half hour, talking about lighter things: her nursery setup, the business, and the beauty of late spring in the valley.

When the sun dipped behind the trees, Davis stepped forward with a warm smile. "Stay for dinner, Kat. I'm tossing chicken and veggies on the grill."

"It smells amazing, Davis, thank you," I said, rising from my chair, "But I'm going to take a rain check. I need to get home and finish settling in."

"Next time," Cynthia agreed softly, squeezing my hand from her chair.

The drive back to my place was quiet. I didn't turn on the radio. I just let the cool evening air blow through the open driver’s window, my mind working through the shift that had taken place.

Forgiving Cynthia had been easy once I saw her as a human who had made a desperate mistake out of fear.

And as I turned down my street, the thought came to me with the sudden, sharp clarity of a lightning strike:

If I can forgive Cynthia... then why was I holding Trent to an impossible standard?

He had made a mistake, yes. A massive, foolish, silent mistake born out of panic and a misguided sense of duty. But sitting in his truck five days ago, he hadn't offered excuses. He had offered his unarmored heart. He had shown me his grief, his regret, and his love.

I pulled into my driveway, shifted into park, and sat in the quiet for a long moment, resting my wrists on the top of the steering wheel.

I had spent months convincing myself that Trent’s proposal was strictly about duty, that he had trapped himself into a life he thought he was required to live. But looking back at the way he’d flown thousands of miles to make sure I was ok, the way he’d cooked three weeks of meals for my freezer, the way he’d remembered my wool socks, and the way he looked at me in the airport...

He didn't just feel bound to me. He loved me. Deeply, completely, and without reservation.

And despite the heartbreak, despite the distance, despite every wall I’d tried to build to protect myself... I still loved him, too.

I reached for my phone, unlocked the screen, and opened my message thread with Trent. My fingers hovered over the keyboard for three seconds before I typed:

Just got back to my place. The talk with your mom went really well.