Chapter 13 - The Downtown Apartment
The apartment on the third floor of a walk-up building in the older district of the city had creaking floorboards, a slightly sticking front window, and a radiator that hissed rhythmically whenever the steam kicked on. There were no marble tiles, no warm wall sconces, and no butler waiting in the background. The furniture consisted of a secondhand modular sofa we bought from a couple moving out of state, a pine kitchen table with two mismatched chairs, and a cardboard box serving as a temporary nightstand in the bedroom.
Clara knelt on the faded braided rug in the center of the living room, using a small plastic utility knife to slice open a cardboard box filled with her books. I stood by the narrow kitchen counter, wiping down the chipped laminate surface with a damp sponge before setting out two plain ceramic mugs and a bag of locally roasted coffee.
The evening light filtered through the lace curtains, casting soft, striped shadows across the room. Outside on the sidewalk below, the faint, muffled hum of city traffic—delivery trucks, car horns, pedestrians calling out to one another—floated up through the open window, grounding us in a world that felt entirely real and unmanaged.
Clara pulled a hardbound sketchbook from the box, flipping through the pages until she found a loose piece of drawing paper. She looked up at me, a soft, genuine smile breaking across her face as she leaned back against the edge of the sofa.
"It's small," she said, looking around the modest room. "There's no elevator, and the water pressure in the shower is half what it should be."
"It's ours," I replied, tossing the sponge into the sink and walking over to join her on the floor. I sat down beside her, pulling her close against my side so I could feel the steady, reassuring rhythm of her breathing. "No boards, no corporate trust, no family estate. Just us."
She rested her head on my shoulder, her hand sliding down to touch the small, unmistakable swell of her abdomen beneath her sweater. "Dr. Evans called while you were downstairs picking up the table. The appointment is tomorrow at nine."
May you like
I turned my head and pressed a soft kiss into her dark hair, feeling the heavy stubble on my jaw brush against her temple. "I'll be right here," I said. "Every step of the way."
The silence that settled over the apartment wasn't the heavy, watchful quiet of the mansion bathroom or the isolated chill of the mountain cabin. It was warm, steady, and entirely earned. I looked out the window at the fading amber streetlights, knowing that whatever came next, the race was finally over.
