Page 72 of The Hotel Room

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Kate

The waiting room smelled faintly of lemon-scented hand sanitizer, the kind that clung to your skin long after you used it. The pale blue chairs were stiff and uncomfortable, the walls lined with informational posters about prenatal vitamins and safe sleep habits for newborns.

Kate shifted in her seat, absently smoothing her hand over the small curve of her stomach. The baby wasn’t moving yet, but she felt the subtle shifts inside, those early reminders of the life growing within her.

James was already there, sitting beside her like he had for every appointment since they found out about the baby. He was never late. Never distracted. He showed up—physically, at least.

And yet, despite his steady presence, the ache in her chest lingered.

She didn’t know how to feel about him being here.

This wasn’t the first appointment. They’d already heard the heartbeat, already seen the flicker of life on the ultrasound screen together.

She remembered how he’d looked that day—staring at the monitor like he was seeing a miracle, his hand on hers, trembling.

But the tenderness of that memory felttainted.

Because the man sitting next to her, so calm and patient, was still the same man who had betrayed her.

And it wassohard to reconcile both versions of him.

James shifted beside her, his knee brushing hers lightly.

“You feeling okay?” he asked softly, his voice so gentle it made her throat tighten.

Kate nodded but didn’t meet his gaze.

“I’m fine. Just tired.”

Which was true, but only half of it.

The truth was, she felt emotionallyexhausted. Drained from the effort of keeping up this delicate balance between them—this careful civility.

He had been...better lately. She couldn’t deny that.

He was present. Attentive. He was doing everything he could to support her.

But the wound he’d left—

It was still there.

And no amount of gentle words or shared appointments could erase it.

“Kate?”

His voice pulled her back, quiet but concerned.

She turned toward him, finally meeting his gaze.

He looked tired, too. Dark circles under his eyes. Hair slightly mussed, like he’d run his hands through it too many times already that morning.

But there was something else there.

Something softer.

Like he knew he was still treading carefully, afraid to break whatever fragile thread existed between them.

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