Page 21 of The Hotel Room

Kate turned away from the counter, breathing through her nose, pressing her hand against her stomach again.

It’s fine. Stress does this. You’re just—off balance. Run down.

She could hear Leah’s voice in her head.You’ve been through hell, Kate. Of course you feel like crap.

Still. The nausea wasn’t letting up.

Kate pulled open the fridge, staring blankly at the rows of yogurt cups and leftovers, hoping something would spark her appetite. But the sight of the eggs turned her stomach. So did the scent of the oranges.

She shut the door too quickly, pressing her palm against the cool stainless steel, heart thudding.

Okay, so maybe it wasn’tjuststress. Maybe she was coming down with something. A stomach bug. Or maybe her body was just—adjusting.

The past few days had been chaos. Nights crying silently into her pillow. Holding Lily when she asked for Daddy. Avoiding James’s texts when they arrived, just his name on the screen making her chest ache.

It was bound to take a toll.

She just needed to take better care of herself. Eat properly. Sleep.

Her hand brushed across her stomach again.No. Not that. It’s stress.She shut the thought down before it could fully form.

Her stomach twisted again, sharper this time.

Kate gritted her teeth, shoving the thought down as she straightened her spine.

It wasn’t that. It couldn’t be.

She wasfine.

Stress could do this. Mess up cycles. Make your body act strange.

It was stress.

It had to be.

She grabbed the coffee mug and dumped it in the sink. She didn’t have time to fall apart now.

CHAPTER SEVEN

James

The microwave beeped, the sound loud in the quiet kitchen.

James yanked the door open and grabbed the plastic container, the heat stinging his fingers as he fumbled it onto the counter with a muttered curse. Steam hissed out as he peeled the film back, the smell of processed pasta sauce filling the space—cheap, artificial, clinging.

He stared at it.

A soggy, microwaved lasagna for one.

He never used to eat like this. Dinner had always been homemade—Kate’s cooking, something warm and thoughtful, with leftovers tucked neatly into glass containers for his lunch the next day.

Now? Now he was here, eating alone in the silent house where his family used to live. All because Kate was overreacting.

He shoved the fork into the lasagna, the tines scraping too hard against the plastic.

Technically, sure—what he’d done was cheating.Technically.

But he hadn’t been having an affair. It wasn’t emotional. He wasn’tin lovewith that woman. Hell, he didn’t even remember her name. He hadn’t wanted a relationship.

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