Page 78 of The Hotel Room

“Yeah...okay. I get it.”

James exhaled slowly, relieved. But then, he softened, leaning forward.

“Listen. I know it feels overwhelming, thinking about the future. But you don’t have to have all the answers right now. You and Emily are figuring it out together, and that’s okay. Just...be careful. Be kind to her. And remember that being in love means respecting each other—completely.”

Noah nodded again, quieter now.

James hesitated, then added, “You’re a good kid, Noah. And you’ve got a good heart. I’m proud of you, okay? Even when we argue, even when things feel messy—you’re becoming the kind of man I’m proud to call my son.”

Noah’s face relaxed, and for the first time in a long while, his expression was open. Vulnerable.

“Thanks, Dad,” he mumbled.

James smiled softly, feeling the ache in his chest loosen, just a little.

They weren’t perfect.

But this moment—this connection—felt like a step.

And James was holding onto it with everything he had.

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James hesitated outside the guest room door, his hand hovering just above the wood. He could hear the soft scrape of a brush, the muted shuffle of her feet against the floor.

She was painting.

He knocked, once, and when there was no answer, he opened the door anyway.

Kate stood at the far end of the room, facing a half-finished canvas propped against the wall. The overhead light cast soft shadows along her figure, the curve of her back, the tension in her shoulders.

The painting was abstract—chaotic streaks of deep blues and muted grays, sharp lines cutting through softer strokes. It was beautiful. But unfinished.

Likethem.

Kate didn’t turn. Her fingers clenched the brush too tightly, and he could see the way her knuckles blanched, as if she were trying to keep herself together with sheer force. The gold band of her wedding ring flashed as she adjusted her grip, the sight hitting him like a punch to the chest. She still wore it. After everything, she still wore it.

It made his chest ache, both with guilt and with a fragile hope he didn’t dare put into words.

“Kate.”

Her name felt fragile on his tongue.

Still, she didn’t look at him. But her posture shifted—tenser, more closed off.

He closed the door behind him, inhaling carefully before speaking again.

“I—” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “I know I never apologized the way I should have. About…everything. But especially what I said. About the money.”

The brush in her hand stilled.

James swallowed hard, stepping deeper into the room.

“I lashed out because I was scared, Kate. I was scared of losing you. And I thought if I reminded you how much you needed me, maybe you wouldn’t leave.”

Her shoulders stiffened.

She didn’t speak.

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