Page 63 of Easy On Me

“Yes.” I pointed toward the baby's room. “Here it is.”

“Oh.” Maggie's sigh was reverent. “It's pretty.”

I paused in the doorway, throat aching. We hadn't done much—the ivory walls Jase had painted, the hardwoods he’d waxed so they gleamed. We’d ordered a sweet rug in blues and greens that echoed the tones in the watercolor I'd done for the baby. He'd hung the painting I’d done on the wall where we'd planned to put the crib. Filmy beige curtains covered the white plantation shutters and let the afternoon sun filter into the room.

“This will be really nice.” Marilyn turned in a small circle, then pinned a no-nonsense look on me. “So what are you thinking?“

“I talked to a divorce lawyer.” I tilted my head in Maggie’s direction. “One of her clients.”

“Do you want a divorce?“

Irritation sizzled over my nerves. “Why does everyone keep asking that? The lawyer did, too. If I’m talking to a divorce lawyer, obviously I want a divorce.”

“Because it’s a valid question.” Marilyn shrugged, a soft roll of her shoulders. “I know you, and you would have put a lot of thought into marrying him. You trust him and feel something powerful for him, or that ring wouldn't be on your finger.”

I waited, knowing she wasn't finished.

“So the question isn't about whether you'll divorce him, but whether you want one.”

“No,“ I hissed, anger bubbling up. I flexed my toes, feeling the cool wood beneath me and pulled them inward, caught my breath, counted to four, then let the exhale go while I counted again to seven, “But how do I live with this?”

“Tell me what this is?” Marilyn crossed her arms, every inch the no-bullshit CFO. “What have y'all talked about?”

I gave an irritable shrug. “He says they'll be no contact except about the baby with a co-parenting app. And he'll do his visitation at his parent's house.”

One of Marilyn's brows rose, and she glanced at Maggie, who had folded to sit on the floor, legs crossed. She fiddled with the fringe running around the edge of the rug. I didn't miss the troubled expression that flitted through Maggie's eyes or how the same emotion tugged Marilyn's brows together.

My shoulders slumped. “I know.”

Overnight, I'd tossed, staring at the ceiling or the wall. Jase's promises – and the way the skin around his mouth paled, a sick tinge to it – as he talked about keeping the baby separate from me and our child.

I saw that nauseated expression and felt a corresponding knot in my stomach. “And the lawyer says there's no reason for her to be around our baby.”

I crossed my own arms, defensiveness heating my neck.

“Well, I can see that.” Marilyn nodded, features set in thoughtful lines. “Your baby is not an issue where she’s concerned.”

I snorted. “Oh, I’m sure my baby is an issue for her.”

If she knew I was pregnant. I doubted she did, though. Jase had no reason to tell her, and he was protective of me and our boy already.

Everything a good daddy should be.

And Lord knew any child of Elizabeth Hall’s would need a good father. I bit the inside of my bottom lip. I knew what that life was like – living with a selfish, unstable mother. If that was Jase’s baby, he would need to be present.

Steady.

Stable.

The same father he’d be to our child – who would be a brother to her baby.

My brows tugged together, and I rubbed at the center of my chest. The two women standing before me in my baby’s room were like my chosen sisters. I’d not only felt the lack of a mother or father, but the absence of a sibling, family to love me and walk through the wasteland of my childhood. I would never have wanted another child to experience that fear and instability, but as a little kid, I’d wished for a real brother or sister, someone who was mine and would be with me in the dark.

“What are you thinking?“ Maggie asked, voice soft.

With a rough sigh, I folded to sit on the rug facing her. Marilyn joined us, knees updrawn and one arm wrapped around them.

“They're siblings.” The words hurt my throat, but deserved to be said. “Family.”