AT THE SAME TIME
ISABELLA
The room was nice enough, clean, quiet, anonymous. But the silence pressed too close, reminding me of the hollow echo of my old house after Richard left. I couldn't stand another night of eating takeout in bed, hiding from myself. So I left. The rain had eased into a mist, the streets shining beneath the glow of old-fashioned lamps. A handful of shops lined Main street, boutiques, a bookstore with a cat in the window, and, tucked neatly on the corner, a café with golden light spilling through its glass panes.The Willow & Bean.
The bell over the door chimed as I stepped inside. Warmth wrapped around me instantly, the kind of warmth that smelled like roasted coffee, fresh bread, and cinnamon. People were scattered at tables, talking softly, their laughter a low hum that didn't sting the way it used to. A waitress with kind eyes and a messy bun approached, balancing a tray of mugs.
"Evening! Just you tonight?"She asked.
"Yes." I said, trying not to sound as small as I felt. "Table for one."
She led me to a cozy booth near the window. I slid into the seat, watching the rain mist across the glass, painting the street in watercolor streaks.
"First time here?" She asked, handing me a laminated menu.
"First time in town, actually."I said.
Her eyebrows rose with curiosity, but she didn't pry.
"Well, welcome to Cherry Blossom Sanctuary. We're glad to have you."She said.
We're glad to have you. Three hours in this town, and already it felt more welcoming than the last five years of my marriage.
"What do you recommend?" I asked, scanning the menu even though my stomach was already twisting with hunger.
"Chicken pot pie." She said instantly, smiling like it was a secret. "Best in town. Comfort food."
Comfort. The word wrapped around me like a blanket.
"Then I'll have that."I said.
"And to drink?"She asked.
"Tea. Something warm."I said.
She nodded and slipped away. I leaned back, my fingers tracing the edge of the table. The cafe buzzed softly around me, forks clinking against plates, the hiss of milk steaming behind the counter, a couple sharing a laugh so gentle it almost hurt to hear. For the first time in months, maybe years, I wasn't thinking about Richard. Or my stepsister. Or the ashes of everything I had lost. I was just… here. Sitting in a booth, waiting for pie, in a town with a name that sounded like healing. And for the first time in forever, that felt like enough. The tea arrived steaming in a chipped white mug, and the pot pie followed soon after, golden crust breaking open to reveal thick, savory steam. My stomach growled so loudly the man at the next table actually glanced over.
"Don't judge me." I whispered to the flaky crust as I broke into it.
The first bite was heaven, rich, buttery, warm in a way that almost made me cry. I hadn't realized how much I'd missed food that tasted like love instead of obligation. Halfway through, the waitress returned.
"Doing okay?"She asked.
"Better than okay." I admitted. "That was exactly what I needed."
She smiled.
"Want to try something from the bar? A little nightcap to go with comfort food?"She asked.
I hesitated. I wasn't much of a drinker anymore. Richard never liked when I drank, he said it made me 'unpolished.' But Richard wasn't here. Richard would never be here.
"Yes." I said, surprising myself. "Something strong, please."
She brought me a glass of amber whiskey, the kind that burned and soothed in equal measure. One became two. Two became three. And suddenly the pot pie was gone, my cheeks were warm, and my tongue was looser than it had been in years. I leaned back in the booth, swirling the last sip of whiskey. An older woman at the counter, silver hair in a braid, sharp blue eyes softened by laugh lines caught my gaze. She raised her mug in a small salute. Maybe it was the liquor, maybe it was the loneliness, but I found myself sliding into the seat beside her.
"Hi." I said, my voice too bright.
"Well, hello, dear." Her voice was honey-thick with age and kindness. "You're not from around here."
I laughed, though it came out shaky.
"Is it that obvious?"I asked.
"It's the way you look at the room. Like you're measuring if it can hold you."She said.
That hit deeper than it should have.
"I… I left everything behind. Divorce." The word tasted bitter. "And now I don't even know if I can have the one thing I wanted most."
Her brows lifted.
"And what's that?"She asked.
I stared into my glass. The truth tumbled out before I could stop it.
"A baby. I just wanted a baby. Not him, not the money, not the lies. Just a baby that was mine."I explained.
The woman studied me for a long moment, then set her mug down.
"You came to the right place, then."She said.
I blinked.
"What do you mean?"I asked.
She leaned in, lowering her voice like she was sharing a secret.
"There's a clinic here. Lifebloom. Quiet little place on the edge of town. Women come from all over, not just for the medicine, but because the doctors… they make miracles happen. Even for those who've been told no all their lives."She explained.
My pulse stumbled. A clinic. Here. In this town.
"What's it called again?"I asked.
"Lifebloom." She repeated, her eyes never leaving mine. "If you're serious about starting over, darling, that's where you begin."She said.
I clutched my glass tighter, the word miracle echoing in my chest. For the first time in years, hope didn't feel like a cruel joke. It felt like a possibility. The older woman's words clung to me like a lifeline. Miracles. It sounded like something out of a dream, too good to be real, but the look in her eyes told me she wasn't just feeding me a story to pass the time.
"Lifebloom." I repeated, letting the word settle on my tongue. "You really think they… help women like me?"
Her lips curved in a knowing smile.
"I don't think, sweetheart. I know. I've seen it. Women who thought their chances were gone… who thought life had already closed the door on them. They walk into Lifebloom broken, and they walk out mothers."She said.
My throat tightened. I gripped my glass, blinking hard against the burn of tears.
"That's all I ever wanted." I whispered. "Not Richard. Not his money. Just someone who's mine."I said.
She reached into her handbag, rummaging for a moment before pulling out a neat, cream colored business card. She slid it across the counter to me like it was contraband.
"Dr. Mercer. Tell them Mrs. Callahan sent you."She said.
The card was simple, elegant, embossed with a pale green sprig of leaves curling over the word Lifebloom. I ran my thumb across the raised letters, a strange shiver of hope rippling through me.
"Thank you," I breathed. "I don't know how to-"I begun to thank her.
"No thanks needed." Her eyes softened. "Just… believe you're worthy of it. That's the hardest part."
I clutched the card all the way back to the hotel, my heels clicking softly on the wet pavement. By the time I slipped into my room, my head was buzzing not just from the whiskey, but from the spark that had ignited in my chest. For the first time since signing those divorce papers, I let myself imagine a future. Not defined by Richard, not tainted by betrayal, but built around me and a child I could finally call my own. I set the card on the nightstand, brushed my fingers over the green sprig one last time, and fell asleep with it beside me like a charm.
Morning sunlight slipped through the thin curtains, warming my face. My head ached faintly, but beneath it pulsed something far stronger than a hangover: excitement. I picked up the card before I even brushed my teeth. 'Lifebloom Fertility Solutions. Dr. Mercer.' Pulling in a deep breath, I grabbed the hotel phone, my fingers trembling as I dialed the number. A soft, professional voice answered.
"Lifebloom Clinic. How may I help you?"Woman asked.
My heart hammered, but my voice was steady.
"Yes. My name is Isabella Hart. I'd like to make an appointment."I said.