Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 142976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 715(@200wpm)___ 572(@250wpm)___ 477(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 715(@200wpm)___ 572(@250wpm)___ 477(@300wpm)
After exchanging gifts, they had snuggled in front of their beautiful Christmas tree, watching Christmas movies together. Cade had ridiculed every single one of her romantic choices, and had insisted that his choice—Die Hard—was the winner of the night. Fern had secretly agreed but had felt obligated to put up a token protest.
The evening had been the perfect ending to a wonderful day.
And afterward Fern had spiraled a little. Unsure what it meant and what the future held for them. Afraid that she wasn’t maintaining enough distance from him and that she would be too tempted to settle for his “good enough” version of marriage, in order to continue having him in her life.
But his clear ambivalence toward the baby continued to be a massive red flag for her. The baby was making its presence known more and more every day. Aside from the physical changes to her body, there had been the disorienting pops and flutters that, at first, Fern had dismissed as muscles spasms. But they had become too regular to be anything other than the baby. She’d been so excited and had wanted to share the news with Cade immediately, but her joy had been tempered by her uncertainty over his reaction. It would’ve absolutely destroyed her to see disinterest in his eyes. And in the end, she’d kept it to herself.
Like a shameful little secret.
It was unsettling to be so happy and so uncertain at the same time. All she knew was that she’d have to make an important decision soon. She loved Cade, there was no point in even deluding herself about that reality. How could she not love him? When he did such unexpectedly wonderful things? But she wasn’t sure she could continue to stay with him when he was still so clearly uncertain about her pregnancy.
She hadn’t forgotten what he’d said about living with an axe hanging above his head. She didn’t want that for him. It wasn’t fair. Not after he’d been so kind to her. Fern wanted this baby, Cade did not. Nobody was to blame for that.
“Fern?” His concerned voice prompted her out of her musings and she blinked.
“Yes?”
“You okay?”
“Yes, fine… just still—” She shrugged and prevaricated, something she rarely did to Cade. “Still emotional after that phone call with Margot.”
She gave him a quick, impulsive hug.
“Thank you, Cade,” she whispered, emotion adding a quavering note to her voice. “Thank you for everything. You’ve done so much for me and I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”
He didn’t reply, instead his troubled, frowning gaze slid away from hers and she immediately wondered what he was trying to hide from her.
He stepped out of her hug, leaving her bereft and bewildered by the sudden shift in his mood.
“Are you ready to go?” he asked her quietly, still keeping his eyes averted. He busied himself with his phone, using it as an obvious excuse not to look at her.
“Yes, but… you don’t have to come with me, Cade,” she told him.
That brought his eyes back up to hers, and she was certain she caught a flash of quickly concealed hurt in them.
“Don’t you want me there?”
“I didn’t think you were interested.”
“Everything about you interests me, Fern.”
“Not my pregnancy.” She was unable to keep the bitterness from her voice and he went very, very still. His eyes were wary, face frozen, mouth grim.
“Your pregnancy affects your health,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “And anything that affects your health interests me greatly.”
Fern simply stared at him in mute frustration. That was not what she’d meant. And he knew it.
“Do you hate this baby, Cade?” She’d asked him that once before. A twofold question, did he hate her? Did he hate the baby? She now recalled—with a nauseating jolt of realization—that he’d answered only one of those questions.
She didn’t know if she’d—they’d—recover if he admitted to hating the child she already loved with every fiber of her being. But it was better to know the truth, so that she could figure out what to do from here.
His lips thinned and his nostrils flared… eyes revealing a turmoil that he didn’t attempt to disguise. His telling physical reaction made the anticipation of what he’d say next that much worse.
“It’s hard to hate something that doesn’t feel real.”
That was all he said, all he was willing to give her. She could see it in his eyes. He had nothing more to add and it frustrated her. Because it wasn’t an answer. It wasn’t anything. But at the same time, she understood that maybe it was an answer to him.
And if it was hard to hate something that didn’t feel real, it had to be almost impossible to love it.
“You kept the ultrasound picture,” she said, recalling those well-worn folds and the faded edges.
“Yes. I look at it often, trying to make sense of it. It’s hard to imagine how that grainy image will somehow coalesce into a whole new person. I just can’t picture it.