Chapter 1

Chapter 1
Chapter 71: “The Calm Before”

POV: Elizabeth

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I didn’t fall asleep right away.

After slipping the ring onto my finger, I sat on the edge of the bed for what felt like ages, just gazing at it. Jackson hadn’t said anything else. He didn’t press me. He simply ran his hand lightly over my shoulder once before stepping into the bathroom, giving me a moment to myself.

When I finally lay back down, I could still hear the water running. The meaning of the ring was still unclear to me, but having it snug on my finger brought a surprising sense of calm.

In the morning, I woke up to the sound of a blender whirring. Jackson was whipping up one of those strange fruit smoothies he had taken a liking to. When I walked into the kitchen in my oversized shirt, he glanced back at me and offered a warm smile.

“Good morning,” he said.

I nodded and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. “I didn’t hear the alarm.”

“I didn’t set one,” he replied. “Didn’t want to wake you.”

I reached for a glass of water, and we stood together in the kitchen, the silence comfortable, just peaceful.

The apartment felt different now. It no longer felt like a battleground, nor was it cold; it simply existed. For the first time in a while, I felt relaxed in my own space.

After breakfast, I tidied up the table and wandered into the spare room, the one I hadn’t stepped into for weeks.

There was my easel, draped in a thin layer of dust. I stood there for a moment, then approached slowly, as if to preserve the tranquility that had developed around us.

I wiped the dust off and found my old sketchpad. Pulling up a chair, I settled in.

I wasn’t aiming for anything beautiful; I didn’t even know what I was going to draw. I just let myself begin. Lines transformed into circles, and shapes emerged that felt familiar yet elusive, like fragments from a dream. The pencil moved fluently, as if my fingers remembered something deep within me.

Then the baby kicked.

I stopped and looked down, placing my hand gently on my belly.

“I know,” I murmured. “It’s been a while.”

Jackson didn’t come in, but I could sense his presence nearby. I heard him busying himself in the kitchen and then in the living room. I half-expected him to come and interrupt my moment, but he didn’t. He simply let me be.

An hour slipped by, then another.

I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed this, how much I’d missed myself, until I glanced up and noted the chaos I’d created. Graphite smudges marked my arms, eraser bits were scattered everywhere, and the page held something that resembled a mix of grief and healing intertwined.

I was still studying the drawing when Jackson entered quietly, placing a cup of coffee on the windowsill beside me.

I hadn’t even noticed him come in.

“Sorry if I startled you,” he said softly.

“You didn’t.” I looked up at him. “Thank you.”

He nodded slightly. “I thought you might like it.”

I picked up the warm cup and took a sip. 

“You didn’t ask what I was drawing.”

Jackson shrugged. “I figured you might not want me to.”

He was right. But oddly, that realization tugged at my heart.

“Do you want to see it?” I found myself asking, surprising even me.

He blinked, unsure if I was serious. “If you’re okay with it.”

I turned the pad towards him. It wasn’t anything defined, just chaotic lines that formed a shape I couldn't fully grasp.

He studied it for a while. “Looks like… you.”

I furrowed my brow. “What do you mean by that?”

“It’s complicated. A bit closed off, but also strong. Like it’s still in the process of evolving into something more,” he replied.

I couldn’t help but stare at him. “You figured all that out from just a few lines?”

“I’ve been observing you for a while,” he said matter-of-factly. “Not in a creepy way, just... paying attention.”

I didn’t respond right away, but my gaze didn’t waver.

He lingered by the door, hands tucked into his pockets. “You seem more like yourself when you're drawing.”

I swallowed hard. “That’s because I feel more like myself.”

The silence hung in the air again, but this time it felt different, gentler.

He gestured to the ring still resting on my finger. “Does it feel heavy?”

I shook my head slowly. “Not today.”

He smiled slightly. “That’s good to hear.”

He didn’t say anything more; he just slipped out of the room as quietly as he had arrived.

I returned to my drawing.

Later in the afternoon, we shared a simple lunch, just some leftovers and juice. We chose to sit at the table instead of on the couch, and it felt like a small step towards rebuilding our connection.

He asked if the baby was kicking more, and I nodded in response.

He didn’t attempt to touch my stomach, and I didn’t suggest it either, but the unspoken boundary felt right.

“I was thinking about repainting the spare room,” he said casually in between mouthfuls. “Maybe a lighter shade. Something soft.”

“For the nursery?” I inquired.

He nodded. “If that’s alright with you.”

“I’m okay with it.”

“You can pick the color.”

I smiled faintly. “Pink is off the table.”

“Got it,” he said with a grin.

After lunch, I tackled the dishes while he folded laundry. At one point, we swapped tasks. It felt so ordinary, so homely, that I almost laughed.

“How did we end up here?” I asked, handing him a towel.

He glanced over. “Slowly. And with some struggle.”

I chuckled. “You’re not wrong there.”

We didn’t delve too deeply into the future, not really. But later, when he sat beside me on the couch, watching a dull movie, our shoulders brushed together. I leaned a little closer, and he didn’t pull away.

That night, I stared at my sketchbook before heading to bed.

I hadn’t signed the page; I never did that when something felt unfinished. But I left it open on the table, wanting to revisit it in the morning.

As I turned off the light, I glanced at my hand again.

The ring was still there.

It wasn’t perfect, nor was it a magical fix.

But for now, that was enough.

And perhaps, just perhaps, that was the whole point.