Chapter 17

My prayers go unanswered. As I stand in my apartment's bathroom, I stare down at the pregnancy test stick. The plus sign stares back at me.

As if to taunt me that the things I’ve wanted were only achievable in this manner.

“He walks away from our marriage because I can’t give birth. And here I am, no longer hoping for a baby.”

A baby. I can’t even believe this is happening. I’m starting to feel a tad bit distressed by this reality.

What the hell am I supposed to do?

“You should tell Ryan,” The voice in the back of my head states.

As if going a bit crazy, I laugh at my own suggestion and speak aloud back to my mind. “Ryan? The man who cheated and fucked your cousin to get her pregnant?”

I groan, throwing the pregnancy test on the bathroom counter with frustration. I stare in the mirror, the bags heavy and dark under my blue eyes. I stare at myself for a moment, wondering if my pregnancy is inherently invisible.

I mean, the sex we had last month was so rushed that we probably finished the race before the hare did against the tortoise.

Nothing about this is clicking in my head. I’m completely in over my head.

But I don’t have a lot of options.

I really only have one.

“I have to keep this from spreading,” I instruct myself. “No one can know. Not Ryan or Melinda, or even Derek.

There are two women I plan on going to with this right away, though. The only people I can truly trust.

My colleague, Jen, has been texting me since I got home, wanting to know the results.

I shoot off a quick text on my laptop, knowing I can’t lie about the results to Jen.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t ask her to be quiet.

“I’m positive. But I need you to keep it a secret. I don’t want to tell multiple people before I know the pregnancy is stable.”

Jen sends back three thumbs up, then three smiling emojis. “Absolutely. I won’t tell a soul.”

I am not sure if she’ll really be able to keep it to herself, but at the moment, I have to trust the process.

I clean up the bathroom in a whirl, not wanting any reminders about my state, and put the stick on the counter after cleaning it.

Then, I text Annie and Lily in our group chat again through my laptop with one simple thing: 911.

Once the three of us are sitting together in my apartment, Lily and Annie launch into their excitement for the miracle of life growing within me.

“I wonder if it’s a boy or girl,” Annie beams, clapping her hands as she looks down at the stick. “This is so exciting!”

Lily snorts. “Such great timing,” she says to me.

Annie’s head shoots up, and she says, “I can’t believe your life is so dramatic,” while rolling her bright eyes. I hear the teasing tone sewn in between, though.

“So, the real question is if a fetus is yours or Ryan’s. I wonder, when the baby is born if they’re going to take it away from you.”

I recoil at the idea. “I spend hours in labor to pop the baby out, and it just leaves to go to Ryan? Fat fucking chance.”

Annie, ever smart, shrugs. “What if we don’t tell Ryan? I mean, he doesn’t really need to know, right?”

“If the child is born, they have every right to learn about their birth parents,” Lily counters. “Besides, imagine Ryan finding out years later because of how big of a family this baby would be welcomed into!”

I let out a long groan as I let my back slap the couch, slowly sliding down the furniture while feeling hopeless.

In my slump, I murmur, mostly to myself, “I don’t know if this is going to complicate the divorce any more than it already is.

This is the last thing I need while I’m trying to figure out my life. Now, I’m going to have to fight for the right to choose what to do with my baby.

I look at my stomach. It’s still average-sized for my body, but I can just picture the baby moving about freely.

Do I want to put a child through all of this? Spending the next several years fighting against Ryan over material things is one thing. But the life of a baby?

This is all he’s wanted. Even before marriage, we’d talked about having kids and growing a family together.

“I don’t care if it’s a boy or girl, but I’m going to spoil them rotten and make sure they know they can talk to me whenever it’s vital.”

“I think you’d have a great time being a dad,” I’d responded, laughing. “I mean, the way you make others laugh and your compassion for the kids in the family?”

It had been scary to talk about because we were still in our early 20s but talking about starting a family felt natural back then.

“Esme? Did you hear me?” Annie and Lily, both concerned women, lock their eyes on me.

“Hm?” I ask.

“What do you think is best for the baby? Or even, best for you?” Annie poses.

I look back at the pregnancy test stick sitting in front of us.

What is best?

“Honestly, the best would be to go back in time to stop Ryan from cheating on me and getting Melinda pregnant,” I shrug.

But that’s not an option.

“Maybe it’s best I have and keep the kid. All Ryan wants from me is money and the house!”

“You’ll have our support, Esme,” Lily assures me, touching her hand over mine with a look so sweet my teeth very well could rot.

“I love you two,” I finally say, tears welling up in my eyes.

Annie and Lily, laughing and awing as they give me hugs, make me feel truly loved.

This baby can be the redo in love.

He or she will be born into a home of love, compassion, and, above all, moral high ground!

I send my best friends away after another half hour of talking about the ups and downs of pregnancy and that it’ll probably be rough at first to keep up with work and raise a kid by myself.

“For all we know, you could already have someone new by the time the baby is born,” Lily tries. “No need to worry about that at the moment.”

After getting ready for bed, I crawl under my sheets, exhausted from the day's events. Annie’s right. My life has turned dramatic.

I imagine a show like Days of Our Lives or other crazy exaggerated soap operas playing out, realizing that it’s just the truth at this point.

Though I’m absolutely fatigued from the last few days, I find myself tossing and turning in my bed. The stress, the anxiety, and the all-encompassing crushing feeling of my world falling apart is taking over.

I lay my arm out on the bed, my knuckles reaching the white walls. Without much thought, I start knocking on the wall between my place and Derek’s.

I don’t know what I expect to happen, but it’s a stress response that I developed years ago. It’s just been almost a decade since I’ve had the need to tap.

I used to do this when I had big meetings or was nervous about meeting new important people. I’ve left this habit behind—or at least, I had.

With my knuckles still next to the wall, I pull my hand away and scold myself.

“What the hell are you doing? You look so ridiculous. What are you possibly fantasizing about right now?”

I sigh heavily. “I don’t know. A fairy Godmother? A wish to turn back time?”

“You’re 30, Esme. Not 13. Act your age.”

I groan and roll over on the bed with the intention to try reading to help make me groggy.

However, I don’t get very far before I hear a loud knocking at my front door.

What the hell?

I pull myself out of the comfort of my bed and trudge to the door, peeking out the window to see who it is.

Derek?

I open the door quickly, crossing my arms over my chest so he can’t see through the shirt.

In his black robe, he asks in a deep voice, “Is there something wrong, Esme?”