Page 36 of Broken Vows

“If you say so.” She turns back to the magazines, flipping pages too quickly to really see them. “I just worry about you, that’s all.”

The room feels smaller suddenly, I stand, needing to move. “I should open a window.”

“It is warm in here. Must be all these pregnancy hormones, right?”

I fiddle with the window latch, and open it up. When I turn back, she’s arranging paint swatches in a fan pattern on the floor, humming under her breath. She looks up and smiles–the same smile I’ve known since high school.

“What about this color scheme?” She points to a soft green. “Very gender-neutral.”

We spend the next hour looking at colors and furniture, making lists and rough budget plans. On the surface, everything is normal. But there’s an undercurrent I can’t quite name, like music playing, just slightly out of tune.

When she leaves, the house feels both emptier and lighter. I return to my sketchbook, staring at the blank space under “Freelance Services.” Maybe it’s not just fear of failure holding me back. Maybe it’s about figuring out who I am now–not just Jeremy’s ex-wife, not just a soon-to-be mother, but me. Alexis. An artist.

I pick up my pencil and start writing. No services this time, but dreams. Things I used to love: typography that flows like water, illustrations that tell stories without words, designs that make people feel something. By the time I’m done, the page is full.

It’s not a business plan. Not yet. But maybe it’s a start.

My phone lights up with a text from Jeremy about picking up dinner on his way over, and I smile. Despite Lilly’s questions, I know what kind of father he’ll be. I’ve seen it in the way he researches baby gear, in how he asks about every doctor’s appointment, in the gentle way he talks about our future.

The day slips awayas I lose myself in sketching. Random doodles turn into actual designs–a logo for a coffee shop, a children’s book character, a typography that swirls across the page. My hand remembers things my brain had forgotten.

The front door creaks open downstairs. “Lex?” Jeremy calls.

“Up here!” I call back.

He appears in the doorway, still in his orange work shirt, holding up a bag that smells like garlic bread. “Thought you might be hungry.”

“Starving, actually.” I gather papers, trying to create order from chaos.

“Leave it,” he says, settling onto the floor next to me. “Show me what you’ve been working on instead.”

Heat creeps into my cheeks. “It’s nothing, really. Just experimenting with some ideas.”

“These don’t look like nothing.” He picks up a sketch of intertwined letters. “This is really good, Lex.”

“Yeah?” I watch his face as he studies the design. “I was thinking maybe I could start small. Take on a few projects, build a portfolio…”

He looks up, smiling. “About time.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that you’ve always been talented.” He unpacks the food–Italian from Mario’s, my favorite. “Remember that mural you did for the community center? People still talk about it.”

“You’re the second person to mention that today.” I accept the container he hands me, the smell of marinara making my mouth water. “Lilly brought lunch earlier.”

Something crosses his face–concern? “Yeah? How was that?”

“Good. Weird.” I twirl pasta around my fork. “She had a lot of questions about you.”

“Like what?”

“About being a dad. If you’re ready.” I study his reaction. “It was strange.”

He’s quiet for a moment, staring at his food. “What did you tell her?”

“That, of course, you’re ready. You’re already being amazing about everything.” I pause. “You are, you know. Amazing about everything.”

His fork stills. “Even though I messed everything up before?”

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