Updated Oct 29, 2025 • ~11 min read
Gabriel didn’t leave.
Jane had expected him to. Thought after their conversation at the bookstore, after all the confessions and tears and heavy truths, he’d pack up and go back to Connecticut. Back to his real life.
Instead, he got a room at the Seabrook Inn.
“It’s month-to-month,” he told her when she confronted him outside the bookstore three days later. “And I wasn’t lying about the resort project. I really am consulting here.”
“For three weeks. You said three weeks.”
“I said at least three weeks. Project timeline is flexible.” He held up his hands. “I’m not stalking you. I’m doing my job. If we happen to be in the same small town, that’s just geography.”
Jane crossed her arms over her growing belly. “You’re impossible.”
“I’ve been called worse.” He smiled, and damn him, it was a good smile. Warm. Real. “Have you eaten lunch?”
“I—” She had meant to. Had a granola bar in her purse. “Not yet.”
“Come on. There’s a sandwich shop down the street. My treat.”
That’s how it started.
Small things. Casual things. Things that shouldn’t have mattered but somehow did.
Lunch a few times a week. Gabriel showing up at closing time with takeout. Coffee in the mornings before her shift started.
“You don’t have to do this,” Jane told him after the first week.
“I know. I want to.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re alone. And pregnant. And you shouldn’t have to be.”
“I chose to be alone.”
“No,” Gabriel said gently. “You chose to be safe. There’s a difference.”
Two weeks in, Jane’s car—the old sedan she’d bought with cash under her fake name—broke down.
She’d been driving home from work when the engine started making an alarming grinding noise. She’d barely made it to the bookstore parking lot before smoke started coming from under the hood.
She was standing there staring at it, trying not to cry, when Gabriel pulled up.
“Don’t,” she said before he could speak. “Don’t say anything. I know I need to get it fixed. I know I can’t afford it. I know I’m screwed.”
Gabriel got out of his truck, looked under her hood, and shook his head. “You need a new transmission. Maybe more.”
“How much?”
“More than it’s worth.” He closed the hood. “Leave it. I’ll drive you home.”
“I can walk—”
“Jane. Get in the truck.”
She was too tired to argue.
Gabriel drove in silence for a few minutes, then said, “I can lend you my truck while you figure out the car situation.”
“No.”
“Why not? I barely use it. I’m staying at the inn, I can walk everywhere.”
“Because I don’t want to owe you anything.”
Gabriel pulled over. Turned to face her. “You don’t owe me. This isn’t a debt. It’s—” He struggled for words. “It’s me trying to help someone who needs it. That’s all.”
“I don’t need help.”
“Everyone needs help sometimes. There’s no shame in it.”
Jane looked out the window at the darkening street. “I’ve spent so long trying to prove I can do this alone. That I don’t need anyone. If I start accepting help—”
“Then you’re human. That’s all it means.”
She turned back to him. “What if I can’t pay you back?”
“Then don’t. I don’t want payment. I want—” He stopped. “I want you to be okay. That’s all I want.”
Jane felt tears threatening again. Damn pregnancy hormones. “This is hard for me.”
“I know.”
“Accepting kindness. Trusting people. It all—it all feels like a trap.”
Gabriel’s expression softened. “I get it. But not everyone is David. Some people just want to help.”
Jane studied his face. Looking for the angle. The manipulation. The thing he wanted in return.
She didn’t find it.
“Okay,” she said finally. “I’ll borrow the truck. Just until I figure something out.”
Gabriel smiled. “Good.”
The next Tuesday, Jane had her twenty-week ultrasound.
She’d been dreading it. Not the appointment itself—she wanted to see the baby, make sure everything was okay. But the going alone part. The sitting in a waiting room full of couples, holding hands, excited together.
The being reminded that she was doing this completely by herself.
She was walking to the clinic—Gabriel’s truck parked at her apartment because she still felt weird driving it—when a familiar vehicle pulled up beside her.
Gabriel leaned out the window. “Going to your appointment?”
“How did you—” She stopped. “Mrs. Gallagher.”
“She mentioned you had a doctor’s appointment today. Twenty-week ultrasound.” He put the truck in park. “Can I come?”
Jane froze on the sidewalk. “What?”
“Can I come with you? To the appointment?” He got out, came around to face her. “You shouldn’t have to go alone.”
“Gabriel, it’s—that’s not—we’re not—”
“I know what we’re not. But I’m here. And you need someone with you. Let it be me.”
“Why would you want to sit through a prenatal appointment?”
“Because—” He seemed to search for words. “Because that baby is innocent in all of this. And you shouldn’t have to see them for the first time alone. And—” His voice dropped. “Because I want to be there. If you’ll let me.”
Jane’s throat tightened. “I can’t ask you to—”
“You’re not asking. I’m offering.” Gabriel held her gaze. “Please. Let me do this.”
Every instinct told her to say no. To keep him at arm’s length. To protect herself from caring about someone who might leave.
But she was so tired of being alone.
“Okay,” she whispered.
The ultrasound tech was a cheerful woman named Hazel who made small talk while setting up the equipment.
“First baby?” she asked Jane.
“Yes.”
“How exciting! And is this dad?” She gestured to Gabriel.
Jane opened her mouth to correct her, but Gabriel spoke first.
“Friend,” he said easily. “Supporting role.”
Hazel smiled. “Well, that’s lovely. She’s lucky to have you. Okay, let’s take a look at this baby.”
The gel was cold. Jane flinched.
Gabriel, sitting in the chair beside the exam table, reached over and took her hand. Squeezed gently.
Jane squeezed back.
Then the screen flickered to life, and there was the baby.
Jane stopped breathing.
Tiny. Perfect. Moving. Real.
“There’s the head,” Hazel was saying, pointing. “And the spine. Four chambers of the heart, all looking good. And—oh, baby’s being cooperative today. Would you like to know the gender?”
Jane couldn’t speak. Just nodded, tears streaming down her face.
“It’s a girl. Congratulations.”
A girl.
Jane looked at the screen, at her daughter—her daughter—and felt something crack open in her chest. Love. Pure and overwhelming and terrifying.
She was having a daughter.
Gabriel’s hand tightened on hers. When Jane glanced at him, his eyes were wet too.
“She’s beautiful,” he said quietly. “She looks like you.”
“You can’t even see her face—”
“I can see enough.” He smiled. “She’s perfect.”
Hazel printed out pictures. Wiped the gel off Jane’s belly. Congratulated them again.
In the parking lot afterward, Jane stood holding the ultrasound photos, staring at them like they might disappear.
“I’m having a daughter,” she said out loud. Testing the words.
“You are.”
“I don’t know how to do this. How to be a mother.”
Gabriel turned her to face him. “You’re already doing it. You ran to keep her safe. You built a new life for her. You’re protecting her every day. That’s being a mother.”
“But I’m so scared. What if I mess her up? What if I’m not enough?”
“You will mess up sometimes. All parents do.” Gabriel’s hands were gentle on her shoulders. “But you’ll also love her. Protect her. Show her what strength looks like. That’s more than enough.”
Jane looked up at him. This man who’d been a stranger four weeks ago. Who’d become something she couldn’t quite name.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “For being there today. For—” Her voice broke. “For making it less scary.”
“Anytime.”
Three weeks into Gabriel’s stay, Jane fell apart.
It was a Friday night. She’d worked a double shift because Marcus needed to visit his sister in Portland. Her feet hurt. Her back hurt. The baby had been kicking nonstop all day and she hadn’t slept properly in a week.
She’d made it to her apartment, dropped her bag inside the door, and just—collapsed.
Sat down on the floor with her back against the wall and started crying.
She couldn’t stop.
All the fear and exhaustion and loneliness she’d been holding back came pouring out. She cried for her grandmother. For the marriage she’d lost that had never been real. For the sister who’d betrayed her. For the life she’d left behind.
For the fact that she was about to have a baby alone in a town where no one knew her real name.
She cried until she couldn’t breathe, until her ribs ached, until she was hiccupping like a child.
A knock on the door made her jump.
“Jane? It’s Gabriel. Are you okay?”
Of course he was here. Of course he’d somehow known.
“Go away,” she called, but her voice was wrecked.
“Not happening. Let me in.”
“I’m fine—”
“You’re crying. I can hear you through the door. Let me in or I’m calling Mrs. Gallagher to get her spare key.”
Jane didn’t have the energy to fight. She crawled to the door, unlocked it.
Gabriel took one look at her—red-eyed, tear-stained, sitting on the floor in her bookstore apron—and came inside, closing the door behind him.
“What happened? Is it the baby? Are you hurt?”
“No. I’m just—” She gestured helplessly. “I’m tired. I’m so tired, Gabriel. And I can’t do this. I can’t have a baby alone. I can’t raise a daughter by myself. I can’t—”
He sat down on the floor beside her. Pulled her against his chest.
Jane went rigid for a second, then collapsed into him, sobbing into his shirt.
Gabriel didn’t tell her it was okay. Didn’t tell her to calm down or that everything would be fine. He just held her. One hand on her back, the other stroking her hair, letting her break.
“I’m scared,” she gasped out between sobs. “I’m so scared.”
“I know.”
“What if David finds out? What if he takes her from me? What if I’m a terrible mother? What if—”
“Hey. Stop.” Gabriel pulled back just enough to look at her. “You’re spiraling. Just breathe with me. In. Out. That’s it.”
Jane tried to match his breathing. In. Out. Slowly, the panic started to recede.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m a mess.”
“You’re exhausted. There’s a difference.” Gabriel brushed tears off her cheeks with his thumbs. “When’s the last time you slept? Really slept?”
“I don’t know. The baby keeps me up. And when she’s quiet, my brain won’t shut off.”
“Okay. Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to eat something. Then you’re going to sleep. And I’m going to stay right here on your extremely uncomfortable couch to make sure you’re okay.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I know. I’m doing it anyway.” He stood, helped her up. “Couch. Now.”
Jane was too tired to argue. She let him guide her to the couch, let him cover her with a blanket. Let him disappear into her tiny kitchen and come back with toast and tea.
“Eat,” he ordered gently.
She ate.
Then he sat on the floor beside the couch, his back against it, and took her hand.
“Sleep,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Jane closed her eyes. Gabriel’s thumb traced slow circles on the back of her hand. Steady. Constant. Safe.
For the first time in years—maybe ever—she felt completely safe.
She didn’t realize she’d said it out loud until Gabriel squeezed her hand.
“Good,” he said softly. “You should feel safe. You are safe.”
Jane drifted off holding his hand, and for once, she didn’t dream of car crashes or burning vehicles or David’s cold eyes.
She dreamed of a beach. Of a little girl with dark hair running in the sand. Of laughter and sunshine and peace.
When she woke hours later, dawn light filtering through the window, Gabriel was still there.
Still sitting on the floor beside her. Head tipped back against the couch, asleep, his hand still holding hers.
Jane looked at their joined hands. At this man who’d given up a comfortable hotel bed to sleep on her floor. Who’d held her while she broke apart. Who’d promised to stay.
And she thought: I’m in so much trouble.
Because somewhere along the way, Gabriel Astor had stopped being David’s brother, stopped being a stranger, stopped being just the person who knew her secret.
He’d become someone she trusted.
Someone she needed.
Someone she was dangerously close to caring about.
And that was the scariest thing of all.
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