The little Italian restaurant buzzed with the comfortable chatter of families and couples enjoying their Saturday afternoon meals. The smell of garlic, fresh basil, and simmering tomato sauce hung thick in the air, wrapping the room in warmth. Olivia slid into the booth by the window, adjusting Ethan's carrier beside her so she could peek down at him. He kicked softly, his little fists waving as though he, too, was glad to be out.
Chloe plopped into the seat across from her, immediately waving over a waiter. "Two lemonades, extra ice. And I'll need the menu, but don't worry, I already know I'm ordering half the pasta section."
Olivia rolled her eyes but smiled. "You've been here before, haven't you?"
"Once or twice," Chloe admitted. "Okay, fine, five times in the last month. They have the best fettuccine Alfredo in the city, and no one can tell me otherwise."
The waiter returned with their drinks and Chloe wasted no time rattling off her order: Alfredo, garlic knots, and a side Caesar salad "because balance." Olivia ordered something lighter—spaghetti with marinara—though she wasn't sure her stomach would let her eat much.
As plates clattered around the restaurant and Ethan cooed in his carrier, Olivia tried to steady her nerves. She'd been holding something in for months, maybe longer, and now, staring at Chloe's easy grin, she felt the weight of it pressing on her chest.
When the waiter left with their orders, Chloe leaned on her elbows and smirked. "Alright, spill. I know that face. You're sitting on something big."
Olivia hesitated, twisting her napkin in her lap. "I need to tell you something. About Ethan."
Chloe's brow arched, though her expression didn't shift much. She stayed calm, patient. "Okay…"
Olivia's throat tightened, but she forced the words out. "Daniel isn't Ethan's father."
For a moment, the hum of the restaurant seemed to fade. Olivia braced herself for gasps, shock, or a barrage of questions. But Chloe just leaned back, her lips curving into a knowing smile.
"I know," she said simply.
Olivia blinked. "You—what?"
"Liv," Chloe said softly, as if she'd been waiting for this. "Who wouldn't know? You and Daniel broke up years ago. Ethan's only three months old. Math isn't my strong suit, but even I can connect those dots."
Olivia's mouth opened, then closed again. "So you've… always known?"
"I've always known," Chloe confirmed, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. "And I've been waiting for you to feel ready to say it out loud. That's your story to tell, not mine to pry out of you."
Something in Olivia's chest cracked open—relief, shame, maybe both. She let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. "I thought you'd be mad. Or disappointed. Or… I don't know."
Chloe shook her head firmly. "Never. You're my best friend, Olivia. My family. I wouldn't pressure you about something this personal. Whoever Ethan's father is, that's your business. If you ever want to tell me, I'll be here. If you don't, I'll still be here."
Olivia's eyes stung, her vision blurring. "God, Chloe, what did I do to deserve you?"
"You cooked me spaghetti once in college," Chloe teased, her grin returning. "It was terrible, by the way. But I figured anyone willing to poison me with overcooked noodles was worth keeping around."
Olivia laughed through the tears, dabbing her eyes with the corner of her napkin. Ethan stirred in his carrier, as if sensing his mother's emotions, and Olivia reached down to tuck the blanket around him.
Their food arrived then, steaming and fragrant, and for a while, they ate in silence, Olivia's confession hanging between them but no longer suffocating her. She felt lighter, freer, as if she'd finally set down a bag she hadn't realized she was carrying.
Chloe twirled a forkful of Alfredo, then pointed it at her. "Just so you know, you don't get to carry this alone anymore. Secrets like that? They eat you alive. So, whether or not you ever tell me who Ethan's father is, you can lean on me. Promise?"
Olivia nodded, her throat too tight for words. She swallowed and whispered, "Promise."
And as she sat there, with Chloe's unwavering loyalty across the table and her son safely sleeping by her side, Olivia felt, for the first time in months, that maybe—just maybe—she could survive whatever came next.