Three months had passed, and Nerissa finally found a fragile sense of peace and solace in London, sheltered under Drake's quiet care.
Far from the chaos she had left behind, the city's cold air and soft gray skies became her sanctuary.
Drake, ever attentive, made sure she had everything she needed—not just for the baby growing inside her, but for herself as well.
He encouraged her to chase the dreams she had once set aside.
With gentle persistence, he set up a small study space by the window, where sunlight would spill over stacks of law books and notes.
Every morning, as she rested her hand over her growing belly, Nerissa opened her books and reviewed for her bar exam, determined to prove that motherhood would not take away her ambitions.
And every night, Drake would quietly check on her—sometimes bringing tea, sometimes just standing in the doorway—reminding her, without words, that she was no longer alone.
By her fourth month, Nerissa's pregnancy began to show—a soft curve that she would unconsciously cradle whenever she paused from her studies. Her once loose clothes were now replaced by comfortable dresses Drake had picked out, always making sure she looked and felt beautiful.
With the changes came her cravings. Sometimes, she would wake in the middle of the night longing for the oddest things—warm blueberry muffins, spicy noodles, or strawberries dipped in chocolate. Drake never complained. Whether it was midnight or dawn, he would quietly put on his coat, slip out into the London streets, and return with whatever her heart desired.
One rainy evening, Nerissa sat curled on the sofa, reviewing her notes, when she suddenly whispered, "Drake… I want mangoes. The sweet, ripe kind… like back home."
Drake chuckled softly. "In the middle of winter?"
She pouted, her hand resting on her belly. "The baby wants it."
That was all it took. Moments later, he was out the door, determined to track down the closest tropical fruit shop in the city.
When he returned—cold, damp, but triumphant—Nerissa couldn't help but smile. As she bit into the golden slices, she felt a warmth in her heart. Drake wasn't just caring for her; he was making her believe that she and her baby truly belonged somewhere safe.
A week later, the rain had cleared, and London's winter sun peeked shyly through the clouds as Drake drove Nerissa to her OBGYN appointment. She sat quietly in the passenger seat, her hands folded over her belly, a mix of excitement and nervousness running through her veins.
In the small, warm clinic, the doctor welcomed them with a reassuring smile. After a brief check, she guided Nerissa to lie back on the examination table. Drake stayed close, standing by her side, his hand resting gently over hers.
The cool gel on her skin made her flinch slightly, but her eyes were fixed on the monitor. Then, the room filled with a rhythmic, rapid sound—thump-thump-thump—like the distant gallop of a tiny horse.
"That's your baby's heartbeat," the doctor said softly.
Nerissa's eyes welled with tears. She had read about this moment, imagined it so many times, but nothing prepared her for the wave of emotion that crashed over her. Her free hand instinctively gripped Drake's, and when she glanced up at him, she found his eyes shimmering as well.
"She's strong," Drake whispered, his voice thick. "Just like her mother."
Nerissa smiled through her tears, feeling the truth of his words settle deep in her chest. For a moment, there was no past, no pain—only the sound of that tiny heartbeat and the quiet promise of a future she could almost believe in.
A few days after their check-up, Drake insisted on taking Nerissa out for a quiet afternoon stroll through the charming streets of Notting Hill. They browsed little shops, stopped for hot chocolate, and admired the pastel-colored houses. But the whole time, Drake seemed unusually excited—his eyes carrying a spark she couldn't quite place.
When they returned home, he guided her upstairs instead of letting her go straight to the living room. "Close your eyes," he told her with a grin.
"Drake…" She laughed, but obeyed, her heart thudding with curiosity. He led her carefully down the hall, his warm hands steadying her, until he stopped in front of one of the guest rooms.
"Alright. You can open them now."
Nerissa's breath caught.
The once plain room had been transformed into a cozy nursery. Soft cream walls were adorned with hand-painted clouds and silver stars. A small white crib stood by the window, draped with a delicate canopy. On the dresser sat a few plush toys—tiny bears and rabbits—along with a folded baby blanket in pale yellow.
"I… I don't know what to say," she whispered, tears pricking her eyes.
Drake smiled gently, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "You don't have to say anything. I just wanted you to know… you and the baby will always have a place here. A safe place."
Nerissa stepped into the room, running her fingers along the edge of the crib. She could already imagine laying her baby here, watching her sleep peacefully under the painted stars. For the first time in months, she allowed herself to dream—just a little—about the life that was waiting for her.
When she turned back to Drake, her lips curved into the smallest but most genuine smile he had ever seen. "Thank you… for everything. You are the only person who only gave me happiness, without doubts and betrayals."
Drake decided to pause his work and spend the day on something far more important—building the baby's crib. The nursery was bathed in soft winter light as he rolled up his sleeves, tools scattered neatly on the floor.
Nerissa, now in her sixth month and glowing in a soft lavender maternity dress, sat on the couch by the window. Her hands instinctively cradled her growing belly, gently rubbing as if speaking to the little one inside.
Drake knelt on the floor, holding a crib panel in one hand and a screwdriver in the other. "You know," he said with a teasing grin, "if our baby comes out and starts crawling before I finish this, you're allowed to fire me as the carpenter."
She laughed, the sound light and melodic. "At the rate you're going, Drake, she might even start walking."
He chuckled, shaking his head. "Harsh critic. I'll have you know I once built a bookshelf in record time."
"That was a wobbly bookshelf," she reminded him, and they both burst into laughter.
Every so often, Drake would glance at her, his eyes softening at the sight—Nerissa, radiant and content, framed by the gentle glow of the window. She wasn't just holding her belly; she was holding a future, their future.
When he finally tightened the last screw, he stood back with a proud grin. "There. Perfect."
Nerissa walked over, resting her hands on the crib's smooth edge. "It's beautiful," she said softly.
Drake looked at her—not the crib—and replied, "It's nothing compared to what's coming." He gently touched her belly and kiss it.
The crib stood proudly in the middle of the nursery, its fresh wood scent mixing with the faint smell of baby powder from the dresser. Drake dusted off his hands and sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning against the crib.
"Alright," he said, patting the space beside him, "now comes the fun part."
Nerissa lowered herself down carefully, her lavender maternity dress spreading around her like soft petals. She smiled at him, a mix of curiosity and amusement. "Fun part?"
"Baby names," Drake declared, as if they were about to embark on the most important mission of their lives.
Nerissa chuckled. "Oh no… this could take forever."
He tilted his head. "Well, we can't just keep calling her 'the baby' forever, can we?"
Her fingers absently rubbed her belly. "If it's a girl… I've always liked the name 'Isla.' It feels soft, like the sound of the sea."
Drake nodded thoughtfully. "Isla. I like that." Then his eyes brightened. "What about if it's a boy?"
She laughed. "You're the one who wanted to do this, so go ahead—suggest something."
He grinned. "Alexander. Strong, classic… and it comes with great nicknames."
"Alex," she repeated softly, as if testing how it felt. "I like it."
For a while, they tossed ideas back and forth, teasing each other about unusual suggestions. Drake joked about naming the baby after his favorite football player, and Nerissa countered with names from her favorite novels. Each laugh seemed to bring them closer, as if they were weaving threads of a new life together.
Finally, Drake leaned his head back against the crib, glancing at her with a gentle smile. "You know… whatever name we choose, she—or he—is already loved more than anything."
Nerissa's heart swelled, and she placed her hand over his. "Yes," she whispered. "So much."
They sat there quietly for a while, the winter light casting a golden haze around them, as if blessing this small, sacred moment in the nursery.
That night, after their laughter in the nursery faded into quiet, Nerissa sat by the window in their London flat. The city lights shimmered below, tiny stars trapped between buildings. She held her phone loosely in her hand, her thumb hovering over the search bar on FaceTalk.
George's name burned in her mind.
She wanted to see him—just a glimpse. To know if he was okay. To know if he even thought about her anymore. Her heart ached with the familiar pull, but she forced herself to lock her phone and set it on the table.
It was safer not to look.
She had made her choice.
Drake entered the room quietly, a steaming mug of tea in his hand. He caught the flicker of sadness in her eyes, the faraway look she tried to hide. Without asking, he sat beside her, placing the cup in her hands.
"I know," he said softly.
Nerissa glanced at him, startled. "Know what?"
"That you still think about him," Drake murmured, his gaze steady but gentle. "I'm not blind, Nerissa. And I'm not here to erase your past."
She looked down at the tea, feeling the sting of guilt. "I'm sorry, Drake… It's just—"
He shook his head, cutting her off with quiet firmness. "Don't apologize. I knew what I was walking into. But I also know what I want."
Her breath caught when his hand covered hers.
"I want you," he continued, voice low and certain. "You and this baby… even if the baby isn't mine. You're my family now, if you'll let me be."
Nerissa's eyes filled, but she didn't speak. She just stared at him, seeing not pity, but a kind of unwavering devotion she hadn't expected.
And in that moment, though George's shadow still lingered in her heart, Drake's presence felt like something solid she could hold onto—warm, steady, and real.
As the wind whispered against the windows, Drake knocked lightly on Nerissa's bedroom door. She was already in bed, curled up on her side, the soft glow of a lamp casting warm light across her face.
"You should sleep," he said gently from the doorway.
"I will," she murmured. "You don't have to worry so much."
But Drake stepped inside, carrying a blanket over his arm. "I'm not letting you sleep alone anymore. Not when you wake up in the night feeling sick, or when you need something and try to handle it yourself."
Before she could protest, he placed the blanket at the foot of her bed and moved to the other side. He lay down carefully, leaving space between them but close enough that she could feel his steady warmth.
"Drake…" Her voice was soft, unsure.
He met her eyes, his tone calm but certain. "I just want to make sure you and the baby are okay. That's all."
For a long moment, Nerissa watched him. His expression carried no hidden agenda, no push for anything more—just genuine concern, the kind that reached deep enough to quiet her doubts. She could feel how much he cared, not out of obligation, but because he truly wanted to be here.
Her heart squeezed. She didn't know how to repay such kindness, but she was determined to try. So she shifted slightly, closing a little of the space between them, and whispered, "Thank you… for everything."
Drake smiled faintly. "You don't have to thank me, Nerissa. Just let me be here."
And for the first time in a long while, she fell asleep feeling safe.
The next morning, Nerissa woke to the faint aroma of something warm and comforting drifting into the bedroom. For a moment, she thought she was dreaming. She sat up slowly, her hand instinctively resting on her belly, and glanced at the empty space beside her—Drake was gone.
A few minutes later, the door eased open, and there he was, balancing a wooden tray in his hands.
"Good morning," he said with that quiet smile of his.
On the tray was a neatly arranged breakfast: a steaming cup of chamomile tea, buttered toast, scrambled eggs, and fresh fruit carefully sliced into bite-sized pieces. A small vase with a single white daisy sat in the corner of the tray, a gentle touch that made her heart soften even more.
"You… made this?" she asked, blinking in surprise.
Drake chuckled as he set the tray on her lap. "I figured you deserved a morning off from rushing to the kitchen. Besides, you're eating for two now—no skipping breakfast."
She let out a small laugh, but her eyes shimmered. "You didn't have to do this."
"I wanted to," he replied simply, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. "You take care of so many things, Nerissa. Let me take care of you for once."
As she tasted the food, she felt warmth spread through her chest—not just from the meal, but from the quiet, deliberate care he poured into every detail. She wasn't used to this kind of devotion.
When she glanced up at him, Drake was already watching her, as if making sure she liked every bite. She smiled softly. "If I keep getting treated like this, I might get spoiled."
"That's the plan," he said with a grin.
And for a fleeting moment, the ache of her past felt lighter.
This is it. The new life she dream of, away from everything.