Act Like You Love Me (Jessica) novel Chapter 115

Chapter 115

Jessica’s POV

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“Be careful, Aunt,” I whispered, grasping her arm gently as I led her from the bathroom back to the hospital

bed.

The tile floor was cool under my feet, a stark contrast to the warmth of her skin, which felt frailer than I remembered.

She winced, her face twisting in pain with each shuffled step, and my heart clenched. The kidney stones had taken its toll, even if the surgery had pulled her through.

I eased her down onto the mattress, tucking the thin blanket around her legs with careful hands, then propped a couple of pillows behind her back to make her more comfortable.

The room smelled of antiseptic and faint lavender from the air freshener I’d sprayed earlier, a small attempt to make this place feel less clinical.

“Should I get the doctor?” I asked, hovering like a worried hen, ready to bolt out the door.

She shook her head slowly, a small, fragile smile cracking the paleness of her lips.

“No, honey. Just stay with me, Jess. That’s all the medicine I need.”

I forced a smile, nodding as I pulled the stool closer to her side.

She looked at me then-really looked at me-with eyes that seemed far too wise for the frail body they inhabited.

“Thank you for being here, Jess,” she said softly, her voice a bit raspy from the tubes they’d removed earlier. “Through all this… I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

I shook my head with a sad smile, tears already prickling at the corners of my eyes.

“You don’t have to thank me, Aunt. We’re family. You’ve been there for me these last six years-raising Adrian with me, picking up the pieces when I was a mess. So… this is just the universe’s way of letting me give back to you.”

She chuckled, though it ended in a small cough that made her clutch her side.

Silence fell between us, heavy with unspoken things. The monitors beeped steadily, a rhythmic backdrop to the thoughts swirling in my head.

“The sadness is so loud in your eyes, honey,” she said after a moment, reaching forward to grab my hand.

I made it easier, scooting closer and entwining our fingers. Hers were cool, slightly trembling.

“Jess… you’ve never really known pure happiness. Not the kind that stays. And I want that for you. I really do.”

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Chapter 115

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Tears rolled silently down my cheeks, hot trails that I didn’t bother wiping away. Her words hit too close.

“You wronged Aaron,” she continued, her voice gaining a sudden, firm clarity.

“And he’s hurt. He might be harsh, he might even be cruel right now, but I’m urging you-don’t give up on him. Don’t just walk away because it’s hard. Pursue his forgiveness. Try to make him see the world through your lens without making excuses. He loves you, Jess. I saw it in his eyes that night. A man doesn’t look at a woman like that unless she’s his entire sky.”

My chest felt like it was being crushed by a hydraulic press.

After a minute, I let out a jagged laugh through the sobs, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere.

“Auntie, why are you giving me this big emotional speech? You’re talking like you’re about to leave me.”

She just laughed too, but it was soft, and resigned.

“Well, honey, it’s inevitable for all of us, isn’t it?”

That made my anxiety spike, a cold dread pooling in my stomach.

Yes, the surgery had been successful, and everything seemed fine now-just mild pain from the stitches, the doctors had said. But her reply, her aura… something didn’t feel right.

It was like she was preparing me, tying up loose ends.

I took a deep breath, wiping my tears with the back of my hand, determined to shake off the unease.

“Alright, alright, Aunt. This isn’t the best time to talk about death, come on,” I said, forcing lightness into my voice.

“Would you want to watch a movie? Read a book, a magazine…?”

She laughed again, her eyes crinkling with genuine amusement. “Actually, I’d like to knit.”

I furrowed my brows, tilting my head. “Knit? You knit, Aunt?”

She shook her head with a nostalgic smile, her gaze drifting as if to some far-off memory.

“Not really, no. But your grandmother-my mother-lived for the sound of it. She used to line me and your mom up by the hearth like little soldiers, forcing us to work the needles until our knuckles ached and the fire died down to embers. She’d just sit there, humming those low, haunting tunes that seemed to come from another century.”

She let out a soft, breathy laugh, her eyes filled with so much memories replaying in her head.

“You know… I hated it back then. I’d watch the two of them, their needles clicking in perfect rhythm, totally lost in a world I didn’t know how to enter. But today… for some reason, I just want to hear that sound again. I want to see if my hands still remember the way they used to move.”

The story painted a picture I basked in, even though it was a memory I never got to live.

16:34 Tue, Jan 27 01

Chapter 115

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I hung on every word, trying to root myself in the history of the women I never got to truly know-women who were just ghosts in old frames until Aunt Lydia breathed life back into them.

Imagining Mom, young and focused, her fingers deft with the yarn as she sat by a fireplace I’d never seen… it warmed me.

It was a bittersweet glow, a borrowed light from a past I’d been cheated out of.

But as I watched Lydia’s distant, peaceful gaze, the warmth began to chill. There was something too deliberate about her request, an air of “closing the circle” that made my chest tighten.

It felt less like a hobby and more like a final wish, a quiet packing of bags.

Pushing the terrifying thought back into the shadows where it belonged, I stood.

“Okay, I’ll go get the kits from the gift shop downstairs. Be right back.”

I hurried out, grabbing a basic knitting set-needles, soft yarn in her favorite blue-and returned quickly.

We settled into a comfortable silence after that: her knitting slowly, while I scrolled through an article on my phone from some big-name journalists, pretending to read but mostly staring blankly at the screen.

My phone buzzed beside me, jolting me back. Ella’s name flashed on the screen. My heart rate picked up as I unlocked it.

“Hey, Aaron Tyrone is here. At our apartment complex AGAIN!!!” The text read-rather screamed.

I swallowed hard, my breastbone aching. My fingers were vibrating so violently I couldn’t even tap the screen to reply.

My palms turned slick with sweat. Before I could gather the courage to type a single word, the three grey bubbles popped up again.

“He’s here for Adrian, Jess.”

I stared at the text until the words blurred into black ink stains.

I didn’t know how to respond. I didn’t have the right to say no, but the fear of what he might say to our son was paralyzing.

“Jessica? Are you okay? You’ve gone pale as a sheet. You look like you’re about to pass out.”

Aunt Lydia’s voice anchored me back to the room. I looked up to find her staring at me, the knitting needles stilled in her lap.

I forced a brittle smile and nodded too quickly.

“I’m fine, Auntie. Just… work stuff.”

“You don’t look fine…” She trailed off as my phone rang, the shrill tone cutting through the air.

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Chapter 115

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The screen lit up with a name that made the room tilt.

Aaron.

I stared at the name for a long time, the ringtone sounding like a siren in the small room.

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Slowly, I lifted my gaze to Aunt Lydia’s watchful eyes-she knew, somehow, without me saying a word.

“I… I need to take this,” I muttered, standing up so fast the stool scraped harshly against the floor.

I stepped out into the hallway, the heavy door clicking shut behind me.

I leaned my back against the cold wall and took three deep, shaking breaths before sliding my thumb across the screen.

Neither of us spoke at first. The line was filled with the heavy, measured sound of his breathing.

I could feel the electricity of his anger and the weight of his grief through the phone. It was a language we had always spoken, even when we weren’t talking.

Finally, he broke the silence. His voice was like low-grade thunder.

“I’m going out with him today.”

I swallowed, a fresh wave of tears rolling down my face. The pain in my throat was so tight I couldn’t even form a syllable.

“Aaron…” I choked out.

“You don’t have to worry,” he added, his voice low and controlled. “I won’t tell him I’m his father yet. He doesn’t deserve to have his world shattered in a parking lot.”

A massive wave of relief crashed over me, followed immediately by a crushing guilt.

Before I could even whisper a thank you, the line went flat.

I stood there in the sterile hallway, the dial tone buzzing in my ear, and leaned my head back against the wall.

I closed my eyes and let the sobs take me, mourning the father and son who were finally together, and the woman who was still standing on the outside, looking in.