Chapter 8- Back to Ines

I didn’t see Dorian again before I left for the hospital.

Marta found me in the guest wing an hour after breakfast, mentioning that a car was ready whenever I needed it, that Mr. Reyes had arranged it the night before, before any of what happened in the kitchen. I didn’t know if that made it feel more thoughtful or less, a kindness planned in advance instead of one that came from anything he actually felt in the moment.

I decided not to examine that thought too closely. There was too much in my head at the moment.

The drive back to the clinic felt different than it had two nights ago, less like walking toward the end of something and more like walking toward an answer I still didn’t fully have.

My hand kept finding my stomach without permission the whole way there, like some part of me needed the reminder that this was real, that all of it, the mistake, the house, the man who apparently couldn’t tell the difference between duty and desire, had led back here, to this baby, to whatever we were all supposed to become because of it.

Ines was waiting when I got there, not in the same exam room as before. A different one, softer somehow, like she’d chosen it on purpose.

“You look tired,” she said, the second the door closed behind me.

“I’ve had a week.”

“I heard.” She gestured for me to sit, pulling my file up on her screen. “Marta called ahead. Said you were staying at the house now.”

I sat, smoothing my hands over my knees. “Is that going to be a problem? For the appointments, I mean. Doctor-patient stuff.”

“No.” She glanced at me, something careful in her expression. “But I won’t pretend I’m not surprised. When I called Dorian that night, I expected him to send a lawyer to protect his interests. I didn’t expect him to open his home.”

“Neither did I.” I sighed

Ines studied me for a second longer that felt uncomfortable, the same look she used to give me back when my mother was sick, like she was reading something underneath what I’d actually said.

“How are you doing?” she asked. “Really. Not the paperwork version.”

I opened my mouth to give her the easy answer, and something in me just didn’t have it in me to lie to the one person who’d been honest with me from the very start.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I don’t know if I’m supposed to trust him. I don’t know if I’m supposed to trust myself around him. He says things that sound right, and then he says something else that makes me wonder if he even knows what he actually feels, or if he’s just been performing the correct response to everything for so long that he’s forgotten there’s a difference.”

Ines was quiet for a moment, setting my file down.

“That’s a very specific thing to notice about someone you’ve known for two days,” she said carefully.

I shrugged “well I have to be, cause biological he’s the father and my housemate”

“Mm.” She didn’t push it, but the look on her face told me she wasn’t buying it either. “Well. For what it’s worth, I’ve followed his foundation’s work for years, long before any of this happened. He’s not a cruel man, Noelle. Whatever else he is.”

“That’s not really the same as knowing what he wants.”

“No,” she agreed. “It isn’t.”

She moved on to the exam after that, checking measurements, listening to my heart rate, asking the routine questions I was starting to get used to answering. It wasn’t until she was finishing up, making a note in my file, she paused.

“What?” I looked at her confused

“This isn’t clinical” she said “Noelle, I meant what I said, to take care of yourself. I know the situation isn’t exactly favorable but you and your baby are alright and I know you’ve always wanted to be a mum”

“This isn’t clinical,” she said. “Noelle, I meant what I said, to take care of yourself. I know the situation isn’t exactly favorable, but you and your baby are all right, and I know you’ve always wanted to be a mom.”

Something in my chest pulled tight, unexpected.

“My mom used to say I’d be good at it,” I said quietly. “Better than her, even. Which is a strange thing to hear from someone who spent most of her life doing it alone.

Ines’ expression softened. “She wasn’t wrong.”

“She didn’t get to see any of this.” I looked down at my hands. “I used to think that was the worst part, that she wouldn’t be here when it finally happened. Now I don’t even know what ‘this’ is anymore. I don’t know how to explain any of it to her, even in my head, without it sounding insane.”

“You don’t have to explain it,” Ines said. “Not to her, not to me, not to anyone else right now. You just have to get through today. Then tomorrow. That’s all any of this actually requires of you.”

I nodded, not trusting my voice for a second.

“Can I ask you something?” I said finally. “Off the record. Not clinical.”

“Always.”

“Do you think I’m making a mistake? Staying there. With him.”

Ines considered the question longer than I expected, like she wanted to give me something true instead of something comfortable.

“I think,” she said slowly, “you’re doing the only thing that made sense with the information you had at the time. Whether it turns out to be a mistake or not, that’s not something either of us can answer yet.” She paused. “But I’ll tell you what I do know. You don’t strike me as someone who’ll let a house, or a name, or anyone’s money, tell you who you’re allowed to be. Whatever happens with him, I don’t think you’re going to lose yourself in it.”

“You have a lot of faith in me.”

“I’ve known you for nine years,” she said. “I’ve earned the right to.”

I managed a small, watery laugh at that, the first real one in days.

She walked me out a few minutes later, promising to call with the next appointment date, and I found myself standing in the parking lot afterward, phone in hand, staring at the driver waiting by the car Dorian had sent, not quite ready to get back in yet.

My phone buzzed before I could decide what to do with the quiet.

Dorian: How did it go?

I stared at the message for a long moment; three words, nothing demanding in them, just a question that meant he’d been thinking about me even while I was gone.

I typed back before I could talk myself out of it.

“Good. Baby’s fine.

Dorian: and you?

I stared at the message, thinking of what to reply, if this was just another responsibility he had to uphold or if it was genuine. We just met two days ago, he can’t actually care for me, like he said he’s just doing his responsibilities.

I tucked my phone back in my pocket leaving him on read and walked towards the car he sent. “Take me to the Courthouse ” I told the driver

It’s time I took care of the divorce. I pulled out my phone again opening Trent’s number, hesitant on the call button but eventually called

After five rings “Hello” his voice came through, before I would feel happy or relieved to hear his voice but now I felt disappointed and disgusted

“Meet me at the Courthouse in twenty, let’s get it over with” I said and immediately hung up.

It was like a weight was taken off my shoulders and I could breathe “Dear God. Please let this all workout” I whispered

When I arrived, I went into the building waiting patiently for Trent. Later the doors open and he came in with his jacket collar turned up against the wind, looking like a man who wanted this over just as badly as I did, for entirely different reasons.

“You’re early,” he said, approaching me as I was standing

“I wanted this done.” I didn’t slow down, walking past him toward the office. “Let’s not make it complicated.”

It wasn’t. The papers were mostly finalized already, thanks to the three weeks he’d apparently spent preparing them behind my back. My lawyer had one line changed, spousal support waived on both sides, no property disputes since there wasn’t much left worth disputing. I signed where I needed to sign, my hand steadier than I expected it to be, and slid the pen across the table when I was done.

Trent signed after me, quiet for once, none of the performance from the other day left in him.

“That’s it,” the notary said, gathering the pages. “You’ll receive the finalized decree within a few weeks.”

“Mm” I nodded, already walking past Trent, but I paused and faced him

“Let’s never see each other's faces or contact each other again. Enjoy your life Mr. Halloway” and left