Izzy & Noah ✔️

Fifty - nine: Katy's pregnancy glow and doubts about a trip to Paris with Noah

"If you count the fact that I'm hugging the toilet every day until evening, then yes. I feel awful. I have no appetite; I can barely keep anything down. Everything smells like something's gone wrong. And that pregnancy glow everyone talks about? Well, clearly, I've lost that." I laugh softly at Katy's text.

I admire her honesty, her straightforwardness. No drama, just raw reality. She's strong. I know she'll be a wonderful mother.

"I think it will pass," I reply, trying to sound more optimistic.

My phone vibrates again, and I'm thankful that my shift is over. The relief of heading home is welcome, but Katy's call makes me smile.

"Where did you disappear to? I haven't heard from you in days! Where are you hiding?" I tease.

"I've found a new home—my bathroom," she says, her laughter crackling through the phone.

"Is it really that bad?" I ask, my smile widening.

"It's worse! I just read this article—apparently, pregnancy can make you sick. Who knew?" she replies.

I chuckle. "Thanks, but I think I'll pass on the whole pregnancy thing."

Is that the truth?

It's not, exactly. But with everything Katy's going through, I can't imagine choosing that path, even if it's something I might have once wanted.

What makes a woman choose to have another child, despite the discomfort, the pain, the unpredictability of it all?

Love. For the life they're carrying, for the bond they're creating, for the body that's been through so much and survived.

Love for the ones we choose to share it all with.

"You always say that—wait for the right one to come along," Katy says, her voice warm and familiar.

The words hit me harder than I expected.

Because he is the one. Or was, I suppose. But life is cruel, and it's taken him away from me.

"I think life gave me the right man... but with an expiration date," I say, forcing a smile, though it feels more like a bitter joke.

There's truth in my words, even if it stings.

"I'm sorry, Izzy. You know I didn't mean it that way," Katy apologizes, and I can hear the genuine concern mixed with her own uncertainty.

"Katy, I believe there are brighter days ahead. When it gets easier. You can't avoid words just because they hurt. I love you, you know that, right? Maybe I don't say it enough, but you're one of the few I trust—who lets me be myself without judgment," I say, trying to reassure her, though part of me is just saying what I need to hear.

I don't want her to worry. Life is unpredictable, and who knows how many more twists I'll have to navigate before things settle.

Too often, we forget how fleeting everything is, how quickly it can all change. Even the people we love, even our own lives, can slip away in an instant.

I hear her sniffle. Is she crying?

"Are you crying?" I ask, a wave of concern flooding me.

"These hormones are messing with me," she says, half laughing, half crying.

"Right, hormones," I reply, laughing too, though tears are threatening to spill. I wipe them away quickly—too many people on the street watching, and I'm already taller than most, which makes me feel exposed in moments like this.

"What's new with you?" she asks, her voice more stable now.

How much has Noah shared with them? How open is he about what he's going through?