Sunday morning arrived too quickly. As I swung my legs over the side of the bed, my hand instinctively moved to rest on my growing belly. The twins were my secret strength, though still my greatest vulnerability.
At twenty weeks, hiding my pregnancy was becoming increasingly challenging. The pregnancy band helped, but sooner or later, the truth would be impossible to conceal.
"Good morning, little ones," I whispered, taking a mont to connect with my babies before facing the day ahead. My mind drifted to the inevitable—conversations I had been avoiding, decisions I could no longer postpone.
I quickly got dressed and headed to the living room.
The sll of coffee drifted through the house, rich and inviting. I found Noah in the kitchen, already dressed and preparing breakfast. He looked comfortable here, at ease in a way that made my heart ache.
"Morning," he said, handing a mug of herbal tea instead of coffee, as if he’d picked up on my subtle avoidance yesterday. Noah noticed things—it was both endearing and concerning.
"I thought we’d head back after breakfast," he continued. "Unless you wanted to stay longer?"
"We should get back," I said, taking a sip of tea. The warmth spread through , a temporary comfort. "But thank you for this weekend, Noah. It’s exactly what I needed."
His smile was warm, unguarded. "It was perfect."
We packed up quickly after breakfast, loading our bags into Noah’s car. As he closed the trunk, he turned to with a thoughtful expression.
"You know you can talk to about anything, right? Whatever’s going on with you... I’m here."
My heart stuttered. Did he suspect sothing? Had I slipped up sohow?
"I know," I managed, forcing a smile. "And I appreciate that more than you know."
The drive back to Joan’s beach house was filled with comfortable conversation and shared mories of the weekend. Noah kept one hand on the steering wheel, the other occasionally reaching over to hold mine. Each ti our fingers intertwined, guilt washed over . His feelings were real; mine were... complicated.
At so point, I dozed off, lulled by the steady hum of the car. When I woke, Noah’s jacket was draped over . He must have noticed shivering in my sleep. It was such a small thing, but it made my throat tighten.
As we pulled into Joan’s driveway, I saw her silhouette in the window, moving away quickly as if she’d been watching for us. Seconds later, she burst through the front door, her face alight with a mixture of relief and excitent.
"There you are!" she called, hurrying down the steps as Noah parked the car. "I was beginning to think you’d eloped or sothing."
Noah laughed, getting out to retrieve our bags from the trunk. "Don’t give her any ideas, Joan."
I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t help smiling at their easy banter. Joan had always liked Noah, even when he was just Liam’s best friend. She’d once told he was "the good one" of the pair—a judgnt that had proved eerily accurate.
Joan enveloped in a tight hug as soon as I stepped out of the car. "Welco back, sweetie," she whispered, before pulling back to study my face. Whatever she saw there seed to please her. "You look... rested."
"It was a good weekend," I admitted, conscious of Noah approaching with our bags.
Noah’s gaze shifted to , soft and full of sothing that made my chest tighten. "The pleasure was all mine."
After helping bring the bags inside, Noah lingered in the entryway, clearly reluctant to leave. "I’ll call you later?" he asked, his fingers brushing mine.
I nodded, acutely aware of Joan watching us from the kitchen doorway. "Drive safe."
He bent down and kissed goodbye, a gentle, almost reverent touch that left montarily breathless. Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.
I turned to find Joan leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a knowing smile on her face. "Well, well, well."
"Don’t start," I warned, though there was no heat in my voice.
She raised her hands in mock surrender. "I didn’t say a word." Then, her expression softening, "Co on, there’s fresh lemonade in the kitchen. You can tell all about your romantic getaway."
I followed her, settling on the kitchen stool while she poured us both tall glasses of lemonade. The tart sweetness was refreshing after the long drive.
"So," Joan began, sliding onto the stool beside . "Details. Did you tell him? About..." She gestured vaguely toward my midsection.
I shook my head. "No. I didn’t tell him."
Joan’s eyebrows shot up. "Diane..."
"I know, I know. But it just... it wasn’t the right ti."
"And when will it be the right ti? When you go into labor?" Joan’s tone was gentle despite her words. "The longer you wait, the harder it’ll be. And the more hurt he’ll be that you kept it from him."
I sighed, wrapping my hands around the glass. "I feel confused, Joan. I don’t know how to move forward from here."
She leaned forward, her gaze steady. "Are you still in love with Liam?"
The question caught off guard. My imdiate response was no. But the truth was far more complicated.
"I don’t know," I admitted softly. "I don’t know if I love who he is now. Or if I just miss the man he used to be."
Joan squeezed my hand. "That’s an answer too, you know."
I nodded, taking a sip of lemonade. "I’ve been thinking," I said. "It’s ti to tell Mom about the pregnancy."
Joan’s eyebrows shot up. "Really? What changed your mind?"
"I can’t keep hiding it," I explained. "And I’d rather she heard it from than from soone else. I’m going to invite her over tomorrow."
"That’s a good decision," Joan said, her tone approving. "What about Liam?"
I stiffened. "What about him?"
"Don’t you think you should tell him too? Before he can use it against you sohow?"
The thought of telling Liam about the twins made my stomach churn. "Not yet," I said firmly. "I need to talk to Andrew first, figure out our next move."
Joan sighed but didn’t push further. "So, tell about the weekend. Where did you go? What did you do? And please, spare no detail about that kiss I just witnessed."
I couldn’t help but laugh, grateful for the change in subject. I told her about the cabin, the lake, our trip to Fountain Head Resort—though I omitted my ulterior motives for that particular outing. As I spoke, I felt myself relaxing, the tension of the past few months easing.
"It sounds wonderful," Joan said when I finished. "Noah’s a good man, Diane. The way he looks at you..."
"I know," I said quietly. "That’s what makes this so hard."
Joan reached over and squeezed my hand. "Life’s complicated, sweetie. We do the best we can with what we’ve got."
I nodded, mind already racing ahead to the conversation with my mother. How would she react? Would she be happy for , despite the circumstances? Or would she see the pregnancy as one more complication in an already ssy situation?
"I’m going to call her now," I decided, reaching for my phone. "Before I lose my nerve."
Joan gave an encouraging smile. "Want to disappear while you talk to her?"
"No," I said, surprising myself with the conviction in my voice.
As I dialed my mother’s number, I felt a strange sense of calm. This was the right decision. The necessary next step.
After months of secrets and lies, it was ti to start being honest—at least with the people who truly cared about .
The phone rang once, twice, three tis. Then my mother’s voice, warm and familiar: "Diane? Honey, how are you doing?"
I took a deep breath. "Mom, hi. I was wondering if you could co over to Joan’s tomorrow. There’s sothing important I need to tell you."
There was a pause, then: "Of course, sweetheart. Is everything alright?"
I looked at Joan, who nodded encouragingly. "Yes," I said, a hand instinctively moving to my belly. "Everything’s fine. I just... I have so news I’d like to share in person."
After we hung up, I leaned back, feeling like a weight had been lifted. One more secret about to be revealed, one step closer to the truth.
"You did the right thing," Joan assured .
I nodded, thoughts swirling in my mind. I need to call that Jessica lady from the Daily Chronicle, I muttered silently to myself.
I excused myself to the room to change into sothing more comfortable. As I shut the door behind , I pulled out my phone, my fingers hesitating for a brief mont before I began scrolling through old ssages.
Sowhere in the endless thread of unread texts, I knew Jessica’s ssage was buried—the one she had sent months ago.
Finally, I found it.
I took a deep breath and dialed the number.
The phone rang once. Twice. Then, as if she had been expecting the call all along, she answered swiftly.
"Hello, this is Jessica from the Daily Chronicle. How may I help you?"
I swallowed, gripping the phone tighter. "Jessica, this is Diane Ashton."
Silence.
The kind of silence that felt heavy, charged with unspoken words.
For a second, I thought the call had dropped. Then I heard a sharp intake of breath on the other end.
"Diane," she finally said, her voice laced with surprise. "I have to admit... I didn’t think I’d ever hear from you."
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