It's one of those dusky autumn evenings where the air feels thick and still, as if the world itself is holding its breath. The sun is setting, casting long shadows across the sidewalks, and Rue pulls her jacket a little tighter around her, feeling the chill settle into her bones despite the warmth radiating from her belly. Her hands cradle her stomach as she walks, feeling the slight, rhythmic push of her unborn daughter moving within her.
She hadn't meant to come this way. She'd been out for a walk to clear her mind, to ease the ache in her lower back and the restlessness in her heart. But somehow, her feet have brought her here—down this familiar path, past the gates of the small cemetery nestled between rows of old oak trees. She stops in her tracks, staring through the iron fence at the quiet rows of headstones, each one marking a life that has come and gone. And among them, somewhere in the silent rows, is him.
Nate.
A shiver runs through her as she stands there, rooted to the spot, her eyes searching the distance as if she might see him standing there, leaning against one of the trees with that crooked smile, his arms crossed in that familiar way. But of course, there is nothing. Just shadows and silence, and a weight in her chest that feels both comforting and suffocating all at once.
She rests a hand on her stomach, feeling the soft, fluttering kicks beneath her palm. It is strange to think of Nate as her daughter's father, strange and yet so painfully real. This child—this life growing inside her—is a part of him, a part of them. A reminder of a love that burned bright and fast, leaving behind ashes and embers that she is still learning to carry.
Rue takes a shaky breath, pressing a hand to her heart, as if she can somehow still the ache there. "You would've been here, right?" she murmurs, her voice barely a whisper, carried away by the soft rustle of leaves. "You would've loved her… as much as you knew how, if you could."
She feels tears prickling at the corners of her eyes, but she doesn't wipe them away. Instead, she lets them fall, one by one, slipping down her cheeks in the dim light of the evening. There is so much she wants to say to him, so much she wishes he could hear. She wants him to know that she is scared, that she is trying her best to be strong, but that there are days when the weight of it all feels like too much to bear alone.
"I'll love you forever, baby," Rue whispers, her voice thick with emotion. The words fall from her lips as naturally as breathing, a promise that she has carried silently in her heart all these months. "Even if you're not here… even if it's just me and her… I'll love you forever."
Rue closes her eyes, letting the tears flow freely, the world blurring around her as she leans into the sorrow, the bittersweetness of it all. She feels her daughter kick again, a gentle, reassuring movement, as if to remind her that she isn't truly alone. That even though Nate is gone, a part of him lives on, in her, in the child they have created together.
She opens her eyes, looking back at the cemetery one last time, her gaze lingering as she whispers, "I hope… I hope you're at peace, Nate. And I hope you know that she'll be loved. I'll make sure of it."
With one last glance, she turns and walks away, her hand never leaving her belly. And as she moves down the quiet street, the words echo in her mind like a lullaby, soft and steady, grounding her as she steps into the unknown.
I'll love you forever, baby.
And maybe, just maybe, that is enough to keep going.