Chapter 73

Chapter 73
Chapter 73: The Girl in the Mirror

POV: Elizabeth

I really didn't want to go.

Not to the fitting. Not to the gala. Not to any event that promised photographers, awkward small talk, or socialites throwing out too many questions laced with a lack of sincerity.

But I went anyway.

Pearl always used to say, “Just show up. Showing up is half the battle.” She’d say it when it came to interviews, parties, even breakups. But today, showing up felt less like half the battle and more like the whole thing.

“Would you prefer the blush or the ivory?” asked the assistant, holding up two dresses as if I was capable of making a decision about it.

I gazed at them, barely registering what I was seeing.

“I don’t know. The one that doesn’t make me feel like a couch,” I replied under my breath.

She gave a polite laugh, unsure of how to respond.

I absentmindedly rubbed my belly. The baby had been quiet earlier, but now there was a little kick. Then another.

“Alright, let’s go with the blush,” I said.

She smiled and helped me into the dress behind a curtain. I struggled with the zipper. My body felt foreign now, not the same shape or strength as before. Sometimes it felt like I was just borrowing it, waiting for the baby’s arrival.

When I stood in front of the mirror, the soft fabric draped over my bump, and the color complemented my skin. I didn’t look bad. But I didn’t look like myself either.

“Everything okay?” the assistant called from the other side of the curtain.

“Yeah. Just… give me a moment.”

I focused on the girl in the mirror. She didn’t look scared like she used to. She seemed… different.

Sure, she was tired. Maybe a bit puffy. But she seemed steadier. Her chin was lifted, her eyes softer but less haunted. Her shoulders were back, as if they remembered what strength felt like.

For once, I didn’t shy away from my reflection. That felt new.

Then I heard the curtain rustle behind me.

“Sorry,” Jackson’s voice came through. “I didn’t realize you were still—”

He halted when he saw me.

I noticed his expression shift. He didn’t smile. He didn’t make a joke. He just stared.

And I didn’t look away.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.

I nodded. “I think so.”

He moved a little closer, but not too close, just enough for me to feel his presence.

A comfortable silence fell between us.

Glancing back at the mirror, then at him, I asked, “Do I look like someone who fits into your world?”

His gaze held steady. “You look like someone who created her own.”

I blinked.

That wasn’t the reply I expected.

It was something I didn’t even know I needed to hear.

“I don’t feel like I’ve built anything,” I admitted. “Most days, I’m just... surviving.”

“Surviving is still building. One step at a time.”

I carefully sat down on the small bench by the mirror, lifting the gown to avoid tripping on it. “I don’t know how I’m going to manage that gala.”

He sat next to me. “Then don’t. Let me handle the spotlight. Smile when you want, and hide when you need to.”

I looked down. “People are going to stare. They always do.”

“Let them stare,” he said. “Let them witness what strength looks like.”

A brief silence passed. I tried to change the subject. “Do you think they’ll have decent food?”

Jackson chuckled. “I’m bringing snacks this time. I’ve learned my lesson.”

I smiled, genuinely this time. “You’re getting the hang of it.”

“I had a great teacher.”

The assistant peeked in again. “Would you like to see another option, miss? There’s one with sleeves.”

“No, this one’s fine,” I replied.

She nodded and stepped out again.

Jackson leaned closer, resting his elbows on his knees. “You really don’t see it, do you?”

I paused for a moment. “I’m beginning to.”

He tilted his head slightly. “You know what I notice?”

“What’s that?”

“I see a woman who stood strong when everyone expected her to crumble.”

I swallowed hard. That was a heavy statement.

“Please don’t say things like that,” I murmured.

“Why not?”

“Because I might start to believe you.”

“Good.”

He reached out for my hand but hesitated, waiting for me to respond.

I took his hand.

We sat together in the fitting room, surrounded by velvet curtains and dim lighting, but the silence between us felt supportive rather than oppressive.

Eventually, I broke the quiet. “I almost canceled this fitting.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because I wanted to stop hiding.”

“Even if it’s difficult?”

I glanced down at our intertwined hands. “Especially when it is.”

The baby kicked again, this time with more force.

Jackson grinned. “That was a strong one.”

I guided his hand to the spot and we waited. Moments later, another kick arrived.

His eyes sparkled with excitement. “That’s our baby.”

“Yeah,” I replied softly. “It is.”

A new silence settled between us, one filled with warmth—a feeling I couldn’t yet fully describe.

“I never imagined this would happen,” I confessed. “You. Me. A baby. A pink dress.”

“Same here,” he replied. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

I met his gaze. “Why is that?”

He shrugged. “Because whatever this is... it feels genuine.”

I fought back tears. “Even if it’s chaotic?”

“Especially then.”

I stood up, holding the dress up in front of the mirror again. “Some days, I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Me neither,” Jackson admitted. “But maybe we don’t need to have all the answers right now.”

I nodded in agreement.

Then something strange happened.

I smiled at my reflection. Not because I looked stunning or because the dress fit perfectly.

But because I felt like myself.

A new version of myself. Still scared. Still striving. But stronger than before.

And for the first time, I liked what I saw.

\---

Later That Evening

Jackson prepared pasta, opened a jar, not homemade, but it still counted.

We settled on the couch, our plates balanced on our laps, engrossed in a crime documentary that we kept pausing to share our thoughts.

At one point, I glanced at him, barefoot, fork in hand, sauce smudged on his shirt, and felt an unfamiliar tightness in my chest.

“Do you ever wonder if we’re pretending?” I asked.

“Pretending about what?”

“This... whole domestic life.”

He paused to think. “Nope. I think we’re learning it in reverse.”

I tilted my head in confusion.

“Most people fall in love first, then figure out how to cohabitate,” he explained. “We started living together first, and now we’re figuring everything else out.”

I looked down at my belly as the baby kicked again.

“Do you want to feel it again?” I asked.

Instead of answering with words, he gently placed his hand on my stomach, his eyes warm.

“Hi there,” he whispered softly. “It’s me. Dad.”

I watched him closely.

He was nothing like the man I had met in Vegas.

And I might not resemble the girl who had run away from everything either.

Yet, something about us,about this moment, was starting to feel right.

Like perhaps, just perhaps, we were becoming the kind of people who could stick around.