Chapter 5
That phone call was like a sharp blade, cutting Carson's last ties to his old life for good.
It crushed every last bit of his foolish hope that his family would come to his rescue.
He didn't say another word. He just lingered by the window, letting the evening breeze wash over his quiet, defeated frame.
Meanwhile, I set out to turn this run-down little apartment into a real home for us.
I found a halfway decent cloth, dampened it in the bathroom, and started wiping the thick layer of dust off every piece of furniture—from the coffee table to the TV stand, all the way to the worn fabric couch that looked anything but cozy.
Fine dust swirled in the air before the damp rag wiped it away.
The place was small, so tidying up didn't take much work.
Still, every small movement felt like a quiet ritual, saying goodbye to the old me.
Farewell to Grace Newton, who once only needed to look pretty and live a life of ease.
Hello to the woman—and soon-to-be mom—who now had to scrape by to make ends meet.
'Daddy's watching you,' the baby's soft voice echoed in my mind.
'He thinks you're a whole new person.
You used to get your nails done and live in fancy places... now you're over here wiping dust off everything.
'It's breaking his heart.'
The little one's innocent thoughts brushed gently against my chest, light as a feather.
I paused my cleaning and glanced up at Carson.
Sure enough, his gaze was fixed right on me.
Beneath the soft amber lamplight, his eyes were dark and unfathomable, like a quiet night sea hiding endless depths.
When he realized I'd caught him staring, he looked away in a hurry, clearly flustered and uneasy.
"I'll take it from here," Carson said, stepping forward and reaching for the cloth in my hand.
I pulled it out of his reach.
"Unpack the suitcases first," I told him in a calm, matter-of-fact tone.
"Hang your clothes in the closet and put your toiletries in the bathroom."
My voice was steady, like I were just assigning him a regular chore.
He hesitated for a second, then nodded quietly and turned to unpack the suitcases.
And just like that, inside this tiny shabby apartment, we fell into an unspoken rhythm of teamwork for the first time ever.
No unnecessary words, only a strange, silent understanding growing between us.
I kept cleaning; he sorted through and unpacked our things.
Before long, the dusty, lifeless space slowly started to feel like someone lived there.
I pulled off all the dusty furniture covers, revealing the plain, ordinary pieces underneath.
Our clothes were neatly hung and folded in the closet.
The small fridge was stocked with fresh groceries we'd brought.
The apartment still looked simple and bare, but at last, it felt like a real place to hang our hats.
I finished mopping the last bit of floor, straightened up, and let out a long, tired breath.
The baby inside me seemed to sense my weariness.
'Mommy, you look worn out,' the tiny voice whispered softly in my head.
'Let me take all your tiredness away.'
A soft wave of warmth washed over my body, melting every bit of exhaustion right out of my bones.
I turned toward the small kitchen.
Carson was standing there blankly, staring at the pile of groceries with a lost, helpless look on his face.
He had no clue how to start making a real home-cooked meal.
This was a man who once had private chefs at his beck and call—all he had to do was pick up the phone. He'd probably never even set foot in a real kitchen to cook for himself.
I walked over to him.
"Can you cook at all?" I asked.
He shook his head slightly, a faint look of embarrassment crossing his face.
"I only know how to boil water," he mumbled awkwardly.
I'd figured as much.
"Go sit and watch TV for a bit," I said.
As I spoke, I reached into the grocery bag, pulled out eggs and fresh tomatoes, and moved with natural, practiced ease.
"I'll make dinner."
He didn't leave. Instead, he hung around right behind me, quietly watching as I rinsed the vegetables, chopped them up, and cracked the eggs into a bowl.
His gaze stayed glued to me, quiet and curious, like he was observing something strange and unfamiliar he'd never seen before.
I poured cooking oil into the skillet. Once it heated up, I poured in the whisked eggs, and they hit the pan with a satisfying sizzle, puffing up fluffy and golden the second they touched the heat.
The small kitchen instantly filled with the rich, mouthwatering aroma of soft scrambled eggs.
I tossed in diced bell peppers and onions, stirred everything together, added a splash of light cream and simple seasonings, then let it simmer gently over low heat.
In just minutes, a hearty pepper and egg scramble was done.
Using leftover fresh ingredients, I quickly pan-seared some asparagus and whipped up a pot of buttery mashed potatoes.
I set the two simple homemade dishes and a light bowl of vegetable soup on the small dining table I'd just wiped clean.
The warm, comforting smell of home-cooked comfort food finally chased away the last of the apartment's stale, musty air.
"Let's eat," I said.
He pulled out a chair and sat down, staring silently at the steaming home-cooked meal in front of him, not taking a single bite for a long time.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"You don't like it?"
He slowly shook his head, picked up his fork, and took a small bite of mashed potato.
He chewed slowly, savoring every bite like it was something precious.
Then, all at once, his eyes glistened with unshed tears.
A single warm tear slipped down his cheek and dropped onto the mashed potato on his plate, fading away almost instantly.
'Daddy's crying,' the baby murmured inside my mind.
'He says this is the best meal he's ever had in his whole life.
'He says for the first time ever, he finally has a real home to call his own.'