Loving Adam Scott

Life In Costa Rica

Addison's P.O.V.

Five Years Ago

Costa Rica welcomed me with warm breezes and humid air. The serenity here was unlike anything I had ever known—quiet, calming, almost like a lullaby for my troubled soul. Every breath I took felt gentler, freer… different.

This time, I didn’t hide my baby bump. I wasn’t in my hometown, where judgement came with every sideways glance or whispered word. Here, I was just another face in the crowd. A stranger. And for the first time in a long while, I felt invisible in a good way.

In my right hand, I clutched the crumpled piece of paper Elara had handed me. My left hand instinctively moved to my belly, rubbing reassuring slow circles over the growing life inside.

“We’re going to see Daddy soon,” I whispered softly. “Just hold on a little longer.”

I took a taxi from the airport straight to the address written on the paper. My heart beat in hope, nerves twisting with every turn of the wheels. Beads of sweat clung to my skin like a second layer despite the cool weather. But all I met was disappointment.

No one by the name of Adam Scott registered at the hotel.

But I didn’t give up. I booked a cheap motel nearby and visited the five-star hotel every single day. I asked questions, I lingered in the lobby, and I watched faces.

He had to be here. Elara said he would be here for a year. I even asked if anyone had checked in under Elara Vermont. Still, nothing.

Three weeks passed in a haze of searching. I asked around town, visited nearby hotels and retreats, and even checked embassies and hospitals—just in case something bad had happened.

But it was like chasing a ghost.

Every lead went cold.

My parents had been funding my stay… until the day my father called.

“Come home, Addison. If you haven’t found him by now, you won’t.”

“We tried calling his number,” he added, “but it’s no longer in service. We even went to his office; he’s not there. His parents are mute about his whereabouts.”

“Of course he’s not in his office,” I snapped, holding back the tremble in my throat. “He’s here. In Costa Rica!”

“Then why haven’t you seen him?” My father fired back.

“I’m not coming back.” My voice was firm, unwavering.

“Addison!” he thundered.

“I know you’re scared. I am too,” I replied, softer now. “But I have to do this. If I go back and wait, the baby will already be born. And I need him to see me. To look me in the eye and say I’m nothing. To say he doesn’t want the baby. I need to hear it… for myself. I need closure.” I rushed the words, holding back tears.

Silence.

Then...

“Then we’ll stop sending money,” he said coldly. “Your mother and I have made a decision. If you choose to study there, we’ll support you. But we won’t fund this... this bratty behaviour. You’re going to be a mother soon. It’s time you started acting like one.”

He hung up.

I didn’t panic. Not right away. I knew my father was serious, but part of me still believed they’d change their minds. They didn’t. My mother stayed silent. Adelson didn’t take sides; he just asked me to come back. But I couldn’t.

I wouldn’t.

One day, after another long, fruitless search for a job, I sank onto a worn-out bench, the evening sky bruising into dusk above me. I was numb. Exhausted. My body shook.

And then I felt it... my baby’s soft kick against my ribs.

A reminder. A reason.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, cupping my belly. “I tried. I swear I did.”

I was alone.

Utterly, cruelly alone.

****

It took nearly a month to find some footing.

I eventually landed a cleaning job at the very hotel Adam was supposed to be staying in. By some stroke of kindness, they hired me despite my condition. The hours weren’t too demanding, and they offered staff quarters.

But I never saw him. Not even his shadow.

Still, I stayed.

When I promised my father I’d resume my studies with the next session, we began speaking again but cautiously, like walking over thin ice.

And that’s when I met him.

Nathaniel Rowland.

Tall. Broad shoulders. Eyes that felt like they saw me, not just looked.

Lips too red and too soft for a man.

Young. Intelligent. Quiet. Dangerously ambitious.

Sharp. Reserved. And from the very start—enchanted by me.

It was a day like any other for me. But not for him.

I’d cleaned his suite countless times without ever meeting him until the day he stepped out of the shower wearing nothing but joggers and a towel around his neck.

“Sorry, sir!” I gasped. “I didn’t know anyone was in."

“That’s alright. Addison, right?”

His voice was calm, sure.

I blinked. “Uh… yes. Yes, sir.”

“Your name tag,” he said, as if it explained everything.

I glanced down, even though I knew it only read Addy. I didn’t ask how he knew.

He offered to help me clean. “A pregnant woman shouldn’t be doing this alone,” he said simply.

That was the beginning.

After that, he was always there—helping, asking questions, and listening. We talked about school, dreams, and life. He helped. He extended his vacation to stay close to me.

He was there when my baby came into this world.

In a quiet, tucked-away clinic, I gave birth to my daughter under a different name—Mia Rowland Storm.

Nathaniel was beside me the whole time, holding my hand, whispering strength into my ears as I screamed and pushed Mia into this world with no family member beside me.

When the nurse handed him the birth certificate, he didn’t hesitate. He wrote his name down under Father.

We named her Mia after my father’s mother.

And when Nathan received a positive response about me being his, he opened a new branch in Costa Rica. While I started school again.

We started anew here.

We built something simple.

Something ours.

Free from judgement.

Free from shame.

But not free from pain.

The scars never faded. And neither did my resolve.