Chapter Forty Three: Okay

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"Hey, William and I are going for a walk, do you want to come?" you ask, standing in the doorway of the study.

Tom looks up from a pile of papers. "I've actually got some work that I want to get done."

"Okay, then I'll see you tonight."

He smiles before you leave the room. It's late spring and you and William walk to a nearby park. William, being too small to play with the group of nearby kids, plays in his stroller while you sit and watch passersby.

"Is this seat taken?" a man asks, referring to the spot next to you on the bench.

"Nope, it's all yours."

"Ah, American," he smiles at your accent. You realize his is similar to yours. "What part of the country?"

"Midwest. Yourself?"

"East coast." He nods toward the group of children playing. "Is one of them yours?"

"No, I've just got this one," you smile down at William sitting in front of you. "What about you?"

"The one wearing the bright orange shirt."

You look to see a young boy. Maybe five or six, playing soccer (or football, as Tom always corrects you).

"He looks like you," you say.

They both have the same shade of light brown hair. You're sure that in a few years, the boy will look just like the man sitting next to you.

"I'm Anthony," he smiles, holding out his hand.

You shake it. "I'm Billie. This is my son, William."

"It's a pleasure to meet you. That's my son, Evan."

The two of you sit and chat for almost an hour. You find out that he came to London for his job. He's an architect. He met his wife while doing a job for her. The two started dating and about a year later, she got pregnant, so they got married and had Evan. They're recently separated. You tell him about you and Tom, and you're quite relieved when he says he had never heard of Tom before. You love Tom's fans, but it's hard to talk to them sometimes. It's nice to have just a normal conversation.

"I should probably get home," you say, looking at your watch. "I had a really nice time talking to you."

"Yeah, same here," he smiles. "Here's my number, text me sometime."

You smile and accept it before making your way home.


You walk into the house to find it mostly dark. You set William in his playpen and go look for Tom.

"Tom?" you call, opening the door to the bedroom.

He's sitting on the bed, his face buried in his hands. He looks up when he hears you, and you can see he's been crying.

"What's wrong?" you ask, suddenly afraid.

He motions for you to sit down, and you do. He takes your hand and pulls it up to his mouth, kissing it gently.

"I was just thinking about the baby."

The miscarriage was almost two weeks ago, and you hadn't seen Tom cry, until now. He leans down and buries his head in your shirt.

"It's okay, Tom," you try to comfort him. "I'm here."

You feel the moisture from his tears soak into your shirt, but you don't care. You prop your chin on his head and let him grieve. You realize that he'd been so busy taking care of you and making sure that you were okay, that he probably didn't have a chance to grieve the way he needed to. He pulls back and kisses your hand again.

"I love you, Bea."

You smile and put your hand on his cheek. "I love you, too."

You hear a loud scream from the living room and you and Tom look at each other, panic striking your hearts. You rush to the room. William is holding onto the couch and is pulling himself up. He looks at you and grins. A smile breaks onto your face. Tom lets out a chuckle next to you.

"Wow! Good job, buddy!" you say.

The boy laughs. He looks so proud of himself. You see his legs begin to wobble before he lets go and falls to the floor. He laughs again and crawls to the edge of the playpen. He opens his arms up. Tom leans down and picks him up.

"I'm so proud of you," he smiles.

William puts his head on Tom's shoulder. You wrap your arms around Tom's middle, and he places he free hand on your waist. His lips press into your hair.

"We'll be okay," you whisper.

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