Page 85 of The Hotel Room

Kate.

He inhaled deeply, trying to steady himself as she crossed the yard. The first thing he noticed was how radiant she looked, even when she was tired.

Her hair was loose today, slightly tousled by the wind. A soft sweater hugged her frame, her hand resting protectively on the small, barely-there curve of her stomach.

The bump was more noticeable now.

Their baby.

She reached the shed, hesitating just outside the door.

James cleared his throat gently, stepping back and gesturing inside.

“Go ahead,” he said softly, voice rough with emotion.

Kate’s eyes narrowed slightly in curiosity, but she stepped in, taking it all in—the white walls, the sunlight pouring in, the open space.

She was quiet as she moved deeper into the room, trailing her fingers along the smooth windowsill, then turning slowly to study the blank canvas he’d set against the far wall.

For a moment, James just watched. All he could see washer.

Not just the woman standing here now but the girl she’d been. The girl he’d fallen in love with when they were just kids themselves—the one who used to talk about art with such passion, who would steal his t-shirts to sleep in, whose laughter had felt like sunlight.

But she wasn’t justthatKate anymore.

She was more.

She was the woman who had carried his children. Who had held their family together when he was working late nights and traveling for his career. She was the one who had sacrificed her own dreams—the acceptance letter she never used, the education she never finished—because she had chosenhim.

And he had broken her. He hadbetrayedher.

Standing here, full of admiration and love for her, that guilt was still there—an ache that wouldn’t leave. But this wasn’t about guilt. It was about showing her, with everything he had left, that he saw her.

Kate finally turned back toward him, her expression carefully guarded.

“I know how important painting is to you,” he said quietly. “I—I want you to have this space. Just for you.”

She blinked, her lips parting slightly, her fingers curling around the hem of her sweater.

The silence stretched.

James shifted, raking a hand through his hair as the words rushed out too fast.

“I didn’t finish it completely because...I didn’t want to make choices for you.” The irony burned and James plowed on quickly. “The furniture, the easels, whatever you need—just tell me. We can pick it out together. Or—or you can go without me. Whatever you want.”

His hands curled into fists at his sides as he watched her eyes flick back to the window, the canvas, the empty walls.

She was thinking. Processing.

And he wasdesperateto know what she felt.

The ache in his chest tightened.

Do you see it, Kate?Do you see how much you mean to me?

Finally, her voice broke the quiet.

“This...is beautiful, James.”

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