Page 116 of The Hotel Room

Kate rose slowly, brushing her fingers over the ring one last time before turning away.

The indent remained.

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The studio was quiet, the soft hum of the heater blending with the occasional creak of the floorboards beneath her bare feet. Kate stood in front of the canvas, her fingers lightly gripping the paintbrush. The smell of fresh paint lingered in the air, familiar and grounding.

Her gaze shifted to the half-finished piece before her, the bold colors already swirling together in a vibrant dance. She hadn’t planned to paint tonight—hadn’t planned anything, really—but the pull of the studio had been too strong to resist.

Her hand moved almost instinctively, sweeping the brush across the canvas in long, fluid strokes. The shapes were abstract but intentional, layers of color building on one another like emotions stacking and intertwining.

As she worked, her mind drifted to the crayon drawing Lily had proudly shown her just days ago. The image had stuck with her—the simplicity of the figures holding hands, the baby inside her belly drawn as a tiny, hopeful bubble.

She set down the brush, reaching for a palette knife to add texture, her movements deliberate. Without realizing it, the shapes on the canvas began to echo the lines of Lily’s drawing.

There was no literal translation, no attempt to recreate it exactly, but the essence was there—round, embracing shapes that suggested unity, warmth, and connection. The tiny bubble became a focal point, its soft, glowing presence nestled within the larger forms.

Kate stepped back, tilting her head as she studied the piece. It was bright, alive with color and movement. Yellows and oranges spread warmth across the surface, while deep greens and blues wove in to anchor it, giving it depth.

It didn’t feel like the raw, tangled emotion of her earlier works. It felt…at peace.

Her hand rested lightly on her belly as she continued to examine the painting. It wasn’t just her anymore. The new life growing inside her had shifted something within her—a sense of possibility, of renewal.

The tears came unexpectedly, blurring her vision. She wiped at them with the back of her hand, laughing softly at herself.

“It’s not even finished,” she whispered aloud, her voice trembling with emotion.

But that wasn’t entirely true. Maybe it wasn’t complete in the traditional sense, but in her heart, it felt whole.

Kate turned, catching sight of Lily’s crayon sketch pinned to the edge of the wall. She smiled, brushing her fingers lightly across the vibrant drawing.

Her family. Their family.

It was messy and fractured and still mending, but the love was still there, holding it all together in ways she hadn’t always noticed before.

With a deep breath, she returned to the canvas, adding the final touches with a steady hand. The tiny glowing shape at thecenter grew brighter, radiating warmth out into the surrounding colors.

She stepped back one last time, the weight in her chest easing as she looked at what she’d created. It wasn’t perfect. But it was hers.

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Kate sat in the nursery, the faint smell of fresh paint lingering in the air. The walls, half-painted in the soft yellow Lily had picked out, were bare, but the room was beginning to take shape. The crib pieces leaned against one wall, waiting to be assembled, and a pile of baby clothes Leah had dropped off earlier sat on her lap.

Her hands moved automatically, folding the tiny onesies, but her mind drifted, lost in the haze of uncertainty that seemed to settle over her lately.

The sound of James’s footsteps pulled her back to the present. She glanced up as he stepped into the room, his gaze warm but hesitant, like he was unsure if he was welcome here.

His eyes flickered to her hands, and she saw him freeze, the smile dropping from his face.

“Kate…” His voice was fragile.

She frowned slightly, confused by the way he trailed off. “What?”

His throat worked, and he stepped closer, sinking to his knees in front of her on the paint-stained tarp. The sight of him like that—vulnerable, raw—sent a pang through her chest.

“I know why,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I get it. I just…I need you to know that it’s okay. I understand why you don’t want to be wearing my ring anymore. After everything I’ve done, I understand. I do.”

Her eyes widened as the realization of what he was talking about hit her.

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