Chapter 94 94
Kate’s POV
I woke up with a strange feeling in my body. I stayed still for a few seconds, staring at the white ceiling of the room, listening to the constant sound of the machines and the muffled murmur of the hallway, trying to orient myself in that slow awakening that still carried the weight of labor. Then I turned my head toward the chair beside the bed.
It was empty.
I blinked slowly, as if that could change what I saw, but it didn’t. The chair remained in place, perfectly aligned, the blanket folded over the backrest, but without him. I lowered my gaze to the transparent crib next to the bed and found Caleb asleep, oblivious to everything, his chest rising and falling in a calm rhythm that forced me to match my breathing to his, as if that gesture could bring back some stability.
Elliot wasn’t there.
I looked at the time and calculated—without much precision—how long it had been since I last saw him. Several hours. I didn’t know when he had left or if he had tried to wake me before going. I only knew he was no longer here.
I sat up carefully, feeling the weight of my still-aching body, propping my back against the pillows while I looked at the chair again, as if I expected to suddenly find him there, as if it had all been a momentary confusion. But no. Reality stayed firm, unchangeable.
It made sense.
Elliot didn’t belong in that space, no matter how much he had made it his own for three days without asking permission. He had been with me without leaving my side, attentive to every movement, every gesture, every sound Caleb made, as if nothing else existed. But that couldn’t last indefinitely. He had a life outside those walls—commitments, decisions, responsibilities that couldn’t wait for me to feel ready to let him go.
And yet, his absence was felt.
It wasn’t just the empty chair. It was the different silence, the way the air seemed colder, wider, as if the room had suddenly reclaimed its real size.
I missed him.
I won’t deny it.
I slid my fingers over the sheet, aware of the space he had occupied so effortlessly before, and then looked at Caleb again, searching in him a way to fill what Elliot had left behind.
He slept deeply.
I leaned toward him, watching him closely.
I missed him.
It wasn’t an idea I wanted to develop, nor an emotion I was willing to explore in that moment, but it was there—clear, inevitable—settling in my chest with a softness that didn’t hurt, but didn’t soothe either.
I turned my head toward the window. I stared outside for a long while, letting time pass without interfering, without seeking distractions, without trying to speed anything up.
Minutes piled up.
Then more.
Elliot didn’t return.
I accepted then that he had left.
I lowered my gaze to my intertwined hands on the sheet and took a deep breath, forcing myself to hold that idea without falling apart.
It was the right thing.
It had to be.
It wasn’t even his presence I should miss, but Andrew’s. Yet having Elliot close these days had been magnificent—I hadn’t even stopped to think that afterward each of us would have to return to our own reality. But he did it before I did.
I looked back at Caleb, focusing on the only thing I couldn’t allow myself to question. He was fine. I was fine. That was enough. The rest would have to find its place in time.
The door opened.
The sound—though soft—broke the balance immediately and made me turn my head quickly. Elliot was there, standing in the doorway, as if he had never left, as if the time that had passed was irrelevant. He walked straight toward me, closing the distance without giving me room to anticipate.
When he reached the bed, he leaned down and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close in a firm gesture that made me close my eyes for an instant. His presence returned all at once, and with it everything I had tried to keep under control while he was gone.
He kissed my cheek slowly.
“I have the test results.”
I brought my hands to my mouth without thinking, holding my breath while I watched him closely, searching his face for any sign that would prepare me for what he was about to say. But I found nothing clear. His expression offered no clues—no obvious relief, no tension—just a neutrality that unsettled me more than any evident reaction.
He pulled away and walked toward the crib.
He leaned over Caleb gently, brushing his cheek with his fingers while looking at him with an intensity I didn’t know how to interpret.
“You’re so perfect…” he whispered.
I watched him without moving, feeling each second grow heavier.
Then he lifted his gaze to me.
“I want to ask you something. Let him keep the name I gave him.”
I approached him slowly, feeling the weight of each step, stopping beside him while I alternated my gaze between Caleb and his face.
“Tell me the results.”
“He’s not mine.”
I lowered my gaze.
I heard his next words as if they came from far away.
“I suppose that relieves you. Now you can go on with your perfect life.”
I didn’t respond—nothing would have been enough. The pressure in my chest began to grow slowly and steadily until it became impossible to bear.
I turned without saying anything and walked toward the bathroom, closing the door carefully so the urgency with which I needed to disappear from his sight wouldn’t show. As soon as I was alone, the air caught in my chest and the tears came without permission. I covered my mouth with my hands to keep from making noise, leaning my back against the wall while the tears fell one after another, without pause, without control.
It wasn’t relief.
It was disappointment.
It was a clean, direct stab in the center of my chest, as if something that had started to build inside me in those days had suddenly collapsed. Because I had already seen it with Caleb. I had seen him hold him, soothe him, look at him as if he were his… and I had gotten used to that image too quickly. It had fit. It had made sense.
And now it didn’t.
Now everything returned to its place.
To what should be.
To what was right.
But it didn’t feel good.
That was the worst part.
Because I should have felt relief. It should have been easier. I should have breathed easier knowing there was nothing to complicate my life, that everything could continue its course without interference, without difficult decisions.
And it wasn’t happening.
I pressed my forehead against the wall, closing my eyes tightly while I tried to stop the crying, but all I managed was to make it hurt more. It hurt to have imagined something that wasn’t real. It hurt to have let Elliot enter so deeply into that moment, as if he had a place that now stood empty.
I took several deep breaths, forcing myself to calm down, swallowing the tears little by little until only that constant, uncomfortable weight remained in my chest.
It wasn’t relief.
It was loss.
I wiped my tears, looked at myself in the mirror for a few seconds, and nodded with a determination that didn’t fully convince me—but was necessary.
When I opened the door, Elliot was still there.
I approached him without hesitation, keeping my voice steady when I spoke.
“The name is beautiful. I’ll keep it for him.”
I hugged him, closing my eyes against his chest, letting that contact hold me for one more moment.
“And I don’t feel relieved… I don’t feel good.”
His arms closed around me more tightly, without words at first, as if he understood more than he said.
Then he pulled back slightly.
“They’ve given you discharge. We can go home.”
I nodded, still without finding anything more to say.
The door opened again and voices filled the room before I could prepare myself. My friends entered with energy, breaking the atmosphere in seconds, approaching the crib, commenting, laughing, admiring Caleb with enthusiasm.
I pulled away from Elliot almost immediately.
One of them looked at him with growing curiosity.
“Isn’t that the boy you used to tutor?”
Another came closer, evaluating him openly.
“He’s very handsome… too handsome.”
“Am I the only one who thinks… he’s changed a lot?”
I felt heat rise to my cheeks while Elliot stayed on the sidelines, unbothered, not intervening, observing the scene with that calm of his that always seemed to place him one step outside everything.
“I should go,” he said finally.
He approached the crib once more, watched Caleb in silence, and then lifted his gaze to me.
No more words were needed.
It stayed in that look.
And then he left.