Chapter 55 – “Everything Else Can Wait”

The cabin was a secret Will had kept tucked away—nestled in the Catskills, far from boardrooms and glass towers, unreachable by anything but silence and intention.

He brought Eliza there on a Friday.

No drivers. No assistants. No agenda.

Just them, a packed bag, and a slow, winding road that led to stillness.

She stepped out first, boots crunching lightly against snow. The cabin was small—warm cedar wood, aged stone fireplace, a porch with two rocking chairs and an old wind chime that sang like memory.

"This is…" She turned to him, the cold pinking her cheeks. "Unexpected."

Will smiled, setting down their bags. "You said you were tired of the city noise. I wanted to give you something quiet."

Inside, it smelled of pine and smoke. The fire was already set—he'd had the caretaker prep it earlier that week—but it was Eliza who struck the match. Who knelt, cupping the flame like something holy, and lit the room in amber.

By evening, the wind outside was howling, but inside, warmth pressed against the windows like a promise.

She curled beside him on the rug, blanket around her shoulders, cocoa in hand.

"I don't remember the last time I heard nothing," she whispered.

He ran a hand over her back, slow and steady. "It's not nothing. It's just not noise."

She let out a breath. One that felt like weeks of tension draining from her spine.

They didn't talk about the baby. Not at first.

They talked about favorite books and worst movies. About the stupidest things they'd done as teenagers. Eliza admitted she once snuck into a gala just to see what the powerful looked like up close.

Will confessed that he hated oysters but ate them for years because he thought it made him seem more refined.

They laughed until their sides ached.

Until her fingers found his, and he pulled her into his lap, blanket forgotten.

She kissed him like silence was a language. Like this weekend was their first breath after drowning.

His hands slid under her sweater, over the curve of her hips, reverent and slow. She undressed him between kisses, her touch unhurried, mapping him again—still hers, still real.

They made love by firelight, limbs tangled, her name a prayer on his lips. And afterward, she lay curled into him, breath even, skin flushed.

Will traced circles on her bare back.

"You're different here," he murmured.

"Less guarded?"

"More… whole."

She lifted her gaze to his, something raw and open in her eyes. "Maybe I needed to break a little to see what was worth saving."

He kissed her again, hand resting gently over her belly. "This. This is worth everything."

In the morning, they didn't rush to leave.

The phone stayed off.

The city stayed far.

And for the first time in a long, long while, Eliza let the world wait.

Because this—him, her, the life stirring inside her—this was the part she never wanted to miss.