Chapter 82

Chapter 82
Chapter 82: “Names and Meaning”

Elizabeth’s POV

The doctor’s office was quiet, the kind of quiet that made every heartbeat, every breath, feel louder than it should. I lay back on the padded table, the cool gel already smeared across my belly as the nurse moved the doppler in slow circles.

Jackson sat beside me, elbow on his knee, eyes fixed on the monitor even though there wasn’t much to see. His other hand gripped mine, and he didn’t loosen it once.

Then the sound came, soft at first, then stronger.

The baby’s heartbeat.

Steady. Alive. Real.

Jackson’s hand tightened around mine. Not roughly, but like he was holding onto something he didn’t want to lose. I looked at him then. His jaw was tense, his eyes focused, but I saw it, the way his lips twitched, trying to hide a smile.

“You hear that?” he asked quietly, almost like he needed confirmation.

I nodded. “Yeah. I hear it.”

The nurse smiled and gave us space, stepping out for the doctor to come in. Jackson still didn’t move.

“She’s strong,” he said softly. “That’s a strong heartbeat.”

I smiled at that. “How do you know it’s a girl?”

“I don’t.” He finally looked at me, eyes lighter than they had been in weeks. “Just a guess.”

The rest of the appointment went by in a blur, checklists, notes, recommendations. By the time we left, the sun was already dipping low in the sky.

We didn’t go straight home.

We stopped at a small family-owned Italian place not far from the clinic. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere with dim lights and no cameras.

He held the door for me without saying anything, and I didn’t joke or roll my eyes the way I might have before. I just said thank you and walked inside.

They seated us by the window, and we ordered pasta and soup and a basket of warm bread that I kept reaching for between sips of water.

The air felt different. Not heavy. Just… still.

Jackson pulled out his phone halfway through dinner, then paused. He looked at me, and for a second, it seemed like he was hesitating.

“Can I ask you something?” he said.

I nodded. “Sure.”

He rested the phone down. “Have you thought about names?”

My fork stilled halfway to my mouth. I shrugged. “Not really.”

That was a lie. I had. For weeks. I’d thought about it every time I woke up in the middle of the night, every time I passed the baby section in a store. But I hadn’t said anything out loud. Saying it made it real. And real meant I could mess it up.

Jackson leaned back. “I have.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You have?”

“Yeah.” He rubbed his palm along his jaw, like he was suddenly self-conscious. “I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about what kind of name would feel right. Something that matters.”

I tilted my head, curiosity winning. “And?”

He hesitated, then looked me in the eyes. “What about Nora?”

My breath caught.

I hadn’t said that name in years. Not since I stood at her gravesite in a black dress, clutching a single white rose with both hands like it could somehow keep me from falling apart.

Nora.

My grandmother.

The only person in my family who ever looked at my sketches like they were worth something. Who told me I didn’t have to be like everyone else. That I could make beauty, and that beauty was enough.

“You remembered?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Jackson’s eyes didn’t waver. “I remember everything about you.”

I looked down at the table. The candles flickered, casting soft shadows on the white cloth. My fingers curled around the edge of my glass, but they were trembling a little, so I set it back down.

“It was her name,” I said quietly. “She believed in me when no one else did.”

“I know.” He reached across the table, hand open, waiting. “That’s why I said it.”

I didn’t cry. I wanted to, but I didn’t. Instead, I slid my hand into his and held it there. Just that. Simple. Steady.

We didn’t speak for a while. Just sat there, our hands linked, the rest of the restaurant fading into background noise.

Later, when we got home, Jackson offered to clean up the kitchen while I changed into something more comfortable. I came back out in one of his old T-shirts and leggings, and he didn’t say a word, just handed me a glass of water and tugged me down to the couch with him.

We sat there, the TV playing something neither of us was really watching. His arm rested behind me, and my feet were propped up on the coffee table. A soft hum of quiet wrapped around us, the kind that didn’t need filling.

“Can I tell you something?” I asked, eyes still on the screen.

“Always.”

“I’ve thought about that name too. Nora. A lot.” I turned slightly to face him. “But I didn’t want to say it out loud. Felt like if I said it, it would jinx something.”

He didn’t laugh or brush it off.

“I get that,” he said. “But maybe saying it makes it real. And maybe real isn’t such a bad thing.”

I leaned into his side. Slowly. Carefully. Like I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to. But his arm moved immediately, pulling me closer.

“You really remember everything?” I asked after a while.

He nodded against my hair. “Every sketch, every complaint about gallery lighting, every time you fell asleep with a brush in your hand.”

I laughed, soft. “That happened once.”

“Three times.”

“Okay, fine. Three.”

He didn’t say anything else after that. Just let his thumb move slowly along the curve of my shoulder. I didn’t stop him.

For once, I didn’t overthink it.

I didn’t ask where we were going or how long this peace would last.

I just sat there. With him. With the name we’d both somehow already chosen.

Nora.

It felt right.

It felt like hers.

And for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t afraid of getting it wrong.