A cup of tea
BEN POV
I stared at the darkened phone screen in my hand, the anger still bubbling beneath my skin. My fingers trembled, not from the cold but from everything that had been stirred up again—memories, wounds, truths no one ever cared to hear.
I tossed the phone onto the bed and sat down, trying to steady my breathing. The bathroom still smelled faintly of eucalyptus and steam, a stark contrast to the bitterness I now tasted on my tongue. I hugged my knees to my chest, feeling small again—too small to carry the weight of a baby, of grief, of history.
A knock came at the door, light and hesitant.
“Ben?” It was Nolan.
I cleared my throat. “Yeah?”
“Dinner’s ready if you’re hungry.”
I hesitated. My appetite had disappeared the moment I heard my mother’s voice, but I knew skipping meals wouldn’t help the baby.
“Okay,” I said, my voice barely audible.
He waited a beat longer. “Take your time.”
I heard his footsteps retreating down the hall, and I sighed in relief. Nolan was giving me space, but I wasn’t sure if that made everything easier or worse. Sometimes I wished he’d just yell at me, or demand to know what I was doing here, carrying his father’s child under his roof. But he didn’t. He was quiet. Kind. And kind people were the hardest to understand.
I pulled myself together and walked to the kitchen a few minutes later, barefoot, my hair still damp from the shower. Nolan stood by the stove, plating pasta and grilled vegetables. The air smelled like garlic and rosemary, and despite everything, my stomach gave a hopeful rumble.
“You didn’t have to cook,” I said, leaning against the doorframe.
He glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. “I like to. It helps me think.”
“Ah. So, is this a thinking dinner?”
He smirked a little, then returned to his task. “More like a peace offering.”
I tilted my head. “Peace from what?”
“From everything.”
That word—everything—felt so heavy in the room. Everything meant Ambrose. The baby. The awkward, unfinished love between Nolan and me. Katherine. Zane. My family. The silence in the car earlier.
He handed me a plate and nodded toward the small dining table. I sat, letting the warmth from the ceramic seep into my palms. We ate in silence for a while, the clinking of forks the only sound between us.
Then he said, softly, “I heard you on the phone earlier.”
My throat tightened. “How much did you hear?”
“Enough.”
I put my fork down and stared at the wall behind him. “They never cared about me. Just the image. The status. Zane’s last name.”
“I’m sorry, Ben.”
I swallowed hard. “Sorry doesn’t change what happened.”
“I know,” he said, looking down at his food. “But I am.”
And I believed him. For some reason, I did.
“You don’t have to let me stay here,” I said, quietly. “I know this is strange. Complicated.”
“It is,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”
“I just... I don’t want to confuse things more than they already are.”
He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed loosely. “Do you think I’m confused?”
I looked up at him, really looked. There was something sad in his eyes, but also steady. Present.
“Maybe not,” I said. “But I am.”
He gave a slow nod. “That’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”
We. That word again. It meant more than just a living arrangement. It hinted at possibility, at forgiveness, maybe even a future.
“I’m scared, Nolan,” I confessed. “I’ve been pretending I’m not, but I am. What if I can’t do this? What if the baby reminds you of everything you lost?”
He reached across the table and placed his hand over mine. “Then I’ll remind you of everything we still have.”
I blinked, tears rising again, but I forced a small smile. “You’re too good to me.”
“Maybe,” he said, gently squeezing my hand, “or maybe I just understand what it means to lose someone you love.”
We didn’t say Ambrose’s name out loud. We didn’t need to.
Later that night, I stood at the large window in my new room, staring out at the city lights. The skyline of New York shimmered beneath a velvet sky, and for a moment, I let myself breathe.
I thought of Clay and Marcelo, their laughter, their unwavering support. I thought of Ambrose—how alive he had seemed, how quickly he was gone. I thought of the baby growing inside me, innocent and unaware of the chaos it had been born into.
And I thought of Nolan, asleep in the room down the hall, carrying a burden just as heavy as mine, and yet still choosing to stay.
A soft knock startled me, and I turned to see him standing there, holding a cup of chamomile tea.
“You looked like you needed this,” he said.
I accepted it gratefully. “Thank you.”
He lingered, then stepped into the room. “I have something for you.”
I raised an eyebrow. “More surprises?”
“Just one.”
He pulled a folded piece of paper from his back pocket and handed it to me.
I unfolded it slowly. It was a letter, in Ambrose’s handwriting.
My breath caught.
“Where did you find this?”
“In his desk drawer. It had your name on it.”
Tears blurred my vision as I read the familiar loops of his cursive.
Ben,
If you’re reading this, it means I’m no longer around—and I’m sorry for that. I didn’t want to leave, especially not now, but life has a cruel way of reminding us we’re not in control.
I want you to know that our night together wasn’t a mistake to me. It was a moment I never expected to matter as much as it did. And if you’re carrying my child, please know—I would’ve been there if I could.
Nolan... he’ll protect you. He has more of me in him than he realizes.
And you—Ben—you are stronger than you know. Don’t let anyone, not your past or your pain, tell you otherwise.
Love,
Ambrose
I lowered the letter slowly, clutching it to my chest.
Nolan stepped forward, eyes full of quiet sorrow. “I thought you should have it.”
“Thank you,” I whispered.
He nodded and stepped back, heading toward the door.
Before he left, I said, “You’re right. We’ll figure this out.”
He looked at me over his shoulder. “Yeah. We will.”
As the door closed behind him, I sat on the bed, holding the letter like a lifeline.
Maybe this wasn’t the ending.
Maybe this was the beginning.