Page 66 of Blurred Lines

The sidewalk is a hazy mess. Each step is a hammer blow to my aching head, a brutal reminder that nothing—no amount of alcohol, no fleeting distraction—can erase the chasm Emily's betrayal has carved into my soul.

My car sits abandoned by the bar, a useless hunk of metal. The thought of driving is laughable, my vision swimming, the world tilting at a nauseating angle. Weakness washes over me, a shameful tide. I sink down on a bench, a sudden bout of rain plastering my hair to my forehead, my stomach churning in time with the relentless pulse behind my eyes.

Just when I think it can't get any worse, a voice cuts through the haze. "You alright, my deary?"

A blurry figure resolves itself into an aged woman, her eyes filled with a mix of concern and a wariness born of too many late nights on these streets. I try to speak, but only a pathetic croak escapes my throat.

She must sense my desperation because her expression softens. "Here, let's get you out of this rain." With surprising strength, she helps me to my feet, guiding me towards a battered yellow car parked nearby.

"Taxi," she explains, her voice gentle but firm. "Can you tell me where you live?"

I mumble out my address, the words thick and slurred. She speaks to the driver, a gruff-looking man with kind eyes, paying him in advance and giving him instructions. The next thing I know, I'm slumped in the backseat, the worn upholstery a blessed contrast to the unforgiving bench.

The ride is a blur of flashing lights and rain-streaked windows. The gentle rocking of the car lulls me into a fitful half-sleep, haunted by fragments of Emily's face and the lingering scent of a stranger's perfume.

We pull up in front of my house, the familiar sight a jarring reminder of the mess I've made. The driver helps me out, his grip firm. With a gruff—"Get some sleep, kid"—he guides me through the front door and deposits me unceremoniously on my couch.

I lie there, staring up at the ceiling, the darkness a mocking echo of the emptiness inside me. This won't do. This can't be the end. My hands tremble as I fumble for my phone, the screen blurring before my eyes. In a moment of desperate, self-destructive lunacy, I type her number—because no amount of deleting will ever make me forget it.

Then, I write a message and hit send. There's no way back from this, no redemption to be found at the bottom of a bottle or in the arms of a stranger. Cursing myself, cursing Emily, cursing the fickle hand of fate; I drift into an exhausted, alcohol-soaked oblivion.

29

EMILY

Six weeks later

Forty-one nights ago, I fell asleep crying to two texts on my phone, one from Caeleb and the other from Finn. Both vastly different, one matter-of-fact to the point of being cold, the other almost devastating. Both were hurtful, and I deserved the pain they brought me.

Being back in New York has brought a lot into perspective. I have religiously avoided my mother, but I will be visiting her this evening, after I get out of the ultrasound tech's office. I sigh and look around me as I attempt to steady myself. I had a fresh bout of nausea this morning, and a blood test has already confirmed what I hadn't dared to hope.

The ultrasound tech's office feels inviting, a welcome change from the often clinical settings I'm used to. Sunlight filters through leafy potted plants, casting dappled shadows on the pale walls. The receptionist smiles warmly as I check in, her voice a soothing counterpoint to the nervous fluttering in my stomach.

Across the room, a young family radiates warmth. The woman, visibly pregnant, her belly a perfect dome beneath a floral sundress, explains something with animated gestures to a giggling toddler. The dad, tall and broad-shouldered, watches them both with a love so fierce it fills the entire space.

A pang of longing, sharp and unexpected, pierces me. I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing the picture away. I have to keep reminding myself that I'm the cause of my own isolation.

The memories of Finn, Silas, and Caeleb are so raw it feels like I ran from Emberton yesterday. Flora's been calling to give me updates. I haven't had the courage to ask her about them, and she doesn't probe, knowing I'm not ready to hear anything. I almost gave in last night and asked her if Caeleb was seeing someone. But I'm not one to dictate their lives or even wish for things to be different when I left the way Taylor Swift's boyfriends do, going by her songs.

I sigh once more. Yes, I could have waited for them to understand. But understanding wouldn't change the reality. Not yet, anyway. Fear, cold and sharp, twists within me. Would they accept a child with an unknown father? Would they be able to love my baby, not as their own, but as a piece of me? Or would they see it as a burden, a constant reminder of the secret shame I carry?

The memory of my own father, his sporadic appearances and indifferent demeanor, sends a fresh wave of nausea crashing over me. I don't want an absentee parent for my baby, someone who strolls in when it's all sunny days and disappears when the slight hint of a storm breaks loose. Plus, who's to say they'd even want to be around? They wouldn't know who the real father is, and I'm not interested in finding out.

The technician calls my name, her cheery voice breaking through the storm raging inside me. I potter inside the exam room with unsteady feet. As I lie down on the table, I focus on the coolness of the gel on my stomach. Then, the technician begins moving the transducer across the expanse of my belly. The screen flickers to life, an alien landscape of grays and blacks.

A flicker. A tiny blip, a rhythmic pulse. The technician points it out with a smile. "There's your baby's heartbeat, Emily. Sounds strong and healthy."

Tears well up in my eyes, hot and unexpected. The sound isn't just a blip on a screen anymore. It echoes deep within me, a steady rhythm like the distant rumble of a train at night, the rhythm of the ocean against the shore. This is my child, a living, breathing part of me. And in that moment, I love it fiercely, unconditionally.

The weight of my decision settles on me, heavier than before. Could I really raise a child alone? In a city far away from the familiar comfort of Emberton, from the love I'd grown so used to?

A wave of defiance washes over me. I wouldn't let fear dictate my future. I would create a safe haven for my child, a world filled with love and security, even if it was just the two of us.

"I can't stay here," I whisper to the technician, my voice thick with emotion. "I need to go somewhere else."

She gives me a concerned look. "Everything alright, Emily? Do you have someone to pick you up?"

Shame floods my cheeks. What a place to be making a blubbering mess of myself. "I … I'm going to my mom's."

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