Contract Marriage: I Will Never Love You-Chapter 79: The Crib

Back to present...

Sarah

"Oh, dear god, no," I exclaim as Rebecca points at the clown poster.

She looks at me with amusement. "Why not? I heard clowns are trendy nowadays."

I wince. "In what world? There is no way this is going in my baby’s room. It’s terrifying. Do you want him or her to grow up with childhood trauma?"

Rebecca snorts. "Fine, fine. No creepy clowns. What about this?" She holds up a pastel-colored print of baby animals.

Now that I can work with. I let out a relieved sigh. "Much better. Cute and non-threatening. Exactly what we need."

She smirks. "Whatever you say."

I roll my eyes, but a small smile tugs at my lips. "Trust me, my kid will thank me one day for not subjecting them to nightmare fuel."

Rebecca chuckles as she flips through another stack of prints. "So, do you have a theme in mind, or are we just winging it?"

I hesitate, running my fingers over a soft, neutral-colored crib blanket. "I don’t know... Something calming, maybe. Nothing too bright or chaotic."

She raises an eyebrow. "So, no circus theme?"

I give her a flat look. "Rebecca."

She laughs, holding up her hands in surrender. "Okay, okay! What about stars? Or maybe a forest theme?"

I nod slowly, considering it. "Stars might be nice... Kind of peaceful."

Rebecca hums in agreement. "Yeah, like a little galaxy for your baby."

A lump forms in my throat at the thought. A whole world, a whole future, waiting to be shaped. My hand unconsciously drifts to my stomach.

Rebecca notices and nudges me playfully. "You okay?"

I force a smile. "Yeah. Just thinking."

Thinking about the future. Thinking about the past. Thinking about him.

What will happen when this child sees that their father hates their mother?

Rebecca picks up a small, knitted star-shaped pillow. "This would be cute for the nursery."

I nod absently, my fingers tightening around the fabric of the blanket I’m still holding.

A bitter taste fills my mouth. No matter how beautiful I make this nursery, no matter how much love I pour into preparing for this baby, there’s one thing I can’t control. Matthew.

Will he ever forgive me? Or will my child always see the anger in his eyes when he looks at me?

Rebecca’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. "Hey," she says gently, "I know things are complicated. But your baby is going to love you. And that’s more than enough."

I swallow hard and nod. "Yeah. You are right."

"Matthew will come around too," she adds.

I blurt it out then. "He went to see Amanda."

Rebecca’s eyes widen, her smile faltering. "What?"

I nod. "He went to see Amanda. He told me."

Her expression shifts quickly from concern to disbelief. "What... Why would he do that?"

I shrug. "I guess he needed closure," I say, but do I really believe that? He damned near told me that he wants Amanda back. Didn’t he?

But I don’t want to tell Rebecca that. I don’t want her to know how pathetic I have become. How I want to be with him no matter how much he hurts me.

Rebecca sets down the star pillow and takes both of my hands in hers, the nursery items momentarily forgotten. Her face is serious now, all traces of teasing gone.

"Sarah, I need you to be honest with me. How are you really feeling about this?"

I bite my lip, fighting the urge to brush it off, to pretend everything’s fine.

"I’m scared," I whisper, my voice cracking. "What if he never forgives me? What if he’s still in love with her and leaves me alone to be with her?"

Rebecca guides me to a nearby display chair, sitting beside me.

"Did he say that? That he wants her back?"

I shake my head. "More or less." I twist the fabric of my shirt between my fingers.

"Or maybe," Rebecca says carefully, "He only wants you to think that because he knows it will bother you. He wouldn’t leave you and his baby."

I want to believe her. God, how I want to.

Rebecca squeezes my hand tightly. "Don’t worry so much. Come on, be happy. We still have a lot of shopping to do."

I take a deep breath, trying to push the worry down, but it lingers like an unwanted shadow. "Yeah, you are right," I say. "We still have a lot to do."

We spend all day shopping. When it’s time to go, Rebecca gives me a hug before we part ways. "Take care, Sarah," she says.

At least my best friend loves me again, I think to myself, smiling.

A few minutes later, I am home, but I can’t find Matthew anywhere in the house.

My heart stops. It’s Saturday, so I know he is not at work. Did he go to see Amanda again?

"Sarah! What’s wrong? Are you looking for something, dear?" Marishka’s voice startles me.

I spin around to face her. "Matthew...where is he?"

Marishka smiles reassuringly. "He’s in the garage. Been there for hours now."

"The garage?" I repeat, confusion replacing my panic.

She nods, wiping her hands on her apron. "Making quite a racket too. Sawing and hammering since after lunch."

My confusion deepens. "What is he doing?"

"Who knows? Why don’t you go and see?" she suggests.

I nod and make my way toward the garage, moving slowly, unsure of what to expect. As I approach, I can hear the muffled sound. It sounds like a scrape of sandpaper against wood, the occasional metallic clang of tools being set down.

I hesitate at the door, my hand hovering over the knob. Part of me wants to burst in. Another part is scared that he will be annoyed by me.

I hear another loud noise followed by a curse.

"Matthew?" I call out, pushing the door open.

I stare at the scene before me. The garage floor is covered in sawdust and wood shavings everywhere. Tools I didn’t even know we owned are spread across his workbench.

And in the center of it all stands Matthew, a pencil behind his ear, a measuring tape in one hand, and a look of complete surprise on his face.

"What..." my breath catches in my throat when I see what’s behind him.

A crib.

Half-built, but unmistakably a crib. The frame is nearly complete, solid oak by the look of it.

"You weren’t supposed to see this yet," Matthew says, his voice somewhere between frustration and embarrassment. He runs a hand through his hair, leaving a streak of sawdust across his forehead. "It was going to be a surprise."

I step further into the garage, my eyes never leaving the crib. "You are... building a crib? For the baby?"

He nods, suddenly looking uncertain. "I took some woodshop classes in high school and college. I thought I’d become a carpenter, but changed my career at the last minute." He chuckles. "But I am still quite good at building things, I think," he says, motioning at the handmaid crib.

I can’t speak. My throat feels too tight, my eyes burning.

Matthew misinterprets my silence. "I know it’s not as fancy as the ones in the stores," he says quickly, defensively. "But it’s sturdy. I’ve triple-checked every measurement, every joint. And I’m adding some modern safety features..."

"It’s beautiful," I breathe. "It’s perfect, Matthew." I stride toward him and wrap my arms around his neck.

He frowns. "Eh...what are you doing? I am all sweaty and covered in sawdust."

I don’t care. I hold him tighter, burying my face against his chest. "I don’t care about sawdust," I murmur against his shirt. "You’re building our baby a crib."

"Don’t make a big deal out of it," he barks, but I feel his arms around me.

I sniffle, trying to hold back tears. "It is a big deal. You’re doing something for the baby."

His arms tighten around me for a moment before he pulls back. "Alright, that’s enough."

I watch as he turns back to the crib, running his fingers along the smooth edge of the headboard.

"I was thinking of carving some stars into it," he says, not looking at me. "To match the nursery theme you mentioned to Marishka."

"You’ve been talking to Marishka about the nursery?"

He shrugs, picking up a piece of sandpaper. "She mentioned you were considering a star theme. I thought it might be nice."

I’m speechless. All day I’d been worrying about Matthew and Amanda, imagining the worst, while he was here, building something for our child. Creating something with his hands that our baby will sleep in.

"Do you want to help?" he asks suddenly, holding out a piece of sandpaper. "This part’s easy. Just smooth it down in the direction of the grain."

I take the sandpaper hesitantly. "I don’t want to mess it up."

"You won’t." His voice is gruff but not unkind. "Here, like this." He stands behind me, guiding my hand over the wood. His chest presses against my back, his breath warm on my neck.

I fight back tears again. Damn these pregnancy hormones.