Texting: one‑word responses when she replied at all.
He’d even shown up at her apartment—only to have her grandmother open the door, look at him with heartbreaking disappointment, and say, “She’ll talk to you when she’s ready. Not before.”
So he’d waited. Done his work. Sat through meetings.
And thought about Natalie approximately every thirty seconds.
The passenger door opened, making him jump.
Natalie slid in, looking wary.
“You’re early,” she said.
“You’re earlier,” he said. “I’ve been here thirteen minutes.”
“I’ve been in the waiting room for twenty,” she said.
They stared at each other.
His brain helpfully short‑circuited at the sight of her—hair pulled back in a simple ponytail, wearing jeans and a soft sweater that made her look impossibly young. Beautiful. Tired.
“You look exhausted,” he blurted.
“Wow,” she said. “Every woman’s dream compliment.”
But there was the ghost of a smile on her lips.
“You try growing a human while translating German contract law,” she added. “It’s a vibe.”
“You’re still working?” he asked.
“Bills don’t pay themselves,” she said. “And before you offer—” She held up a hand. “I don’t want your money.”
“I wasn’t going to offer money,” he said. “I was going to offer to reduce your workload. You shouldn’t be stressed right now.”
“I’m pregnant, not made of glass,” she said. “Women work through pregnancies all the time.”
“Not women who collapsed from exhaustion a week ago,” he said.
Her jaw set in a familiar stubborn line.
“Are we going to fight in your car,” she asked, “or are we going to this appointment?”
“Appointment,” he said immediately. “Definitely appointment.”
He got out and circled the car to open her door. She rolled her eyes but accepted the gesture.
The waiting room was cheerful—soft colors, parenting magazines, a play area with toys.
Carter felt massively out of place in his three‑piece suit.
He sat next to Natalie, hyperaware of the three inches of space between them.
She was reading a magazine about nursery decor with intense focus, like it contained national secrets.
“Natalie Spencer?” A nurse appeared with a clipboard.
They stood at the same time.
Carter followed Natalie down a hallway into an exam room, and suddenly reality hit him with the force of a freight train.
This was happening.
There was going to be a baby.
“First time Dad?” the nurse asked kindly, probably noticing his death grip on the chair.
“That obvious?” he asked.
“Honey, you look like you’re about to pass out,” she said. “It’s very sweet. Don’t worry. The fainting is usually Mom’s job.”
Natalie snorted from the exam table.
“I already fainted once,” she said. “I’m good.”
“That’s the spirit,” the nurse replied.
She took Natalie’s vitals and asked a series of questions that made Carter’s ears burn—apparently pregnancy involved a lot of very personal details.
“Dr. Chen will be in shortly,” the nurse said at last. “Dad, there’s water in the corner if you need it.”
When she left, silence descended.
Carter sat.
Natalie lay back on the table.
They both stared at the ceiling.
“I’m sorry,” Carter said finally. “For everything. The investigation. The doubt. The way I handled all of it.”
“I know,” Natalie said softly. “I got your seventeen apology texts. And the flowers. All six arrangements.”
“You sent them back,” he murmured.
“I was angry,” she said. “Still am. A little.”
She turned her head to look at him.
“But I understand why you did it,” she added. “Doesn’t mean I like it. But I understand.”
“I should have trusted you,” he said.
“Yes,” she agreed calmly. “You should have.”
There was no anger in her voice—just honesty.
“You’d been lied to,” she added. “I get why trust is hard.”
