Page 67 of Blurred Lines

"Good." She smiles encouragingly. "Well, you take care of yourself, Emily. And congratulations!"

I mumble a thank you, the weight of the word heavy on my tongue. I step outside the exam room, still in the office, and note that it's raining. I walk over to a window to catch a glimpse of New York. Raindrops chase each other down windowpanes of expansive shopfronts, distorting the world into a shimmering blur. The wind whistles through bare branches, their silhouettes stark against the steely grey sky. Puddles dance with ripples, reflecting the hurried pace of city life distorted in their silvery depths.

Inside the office, warmth and quiet offer a respite from the blustery day. The scent of sterilizer mingles with a hint of cinnamon from the bakery next door, and the low hum of the ultrasound machine provides a calming soundtrack to my jumbled emotions.

The young family who were here moments ago have moved on, leaving behind only the lingering warmth of their joy. My fingers trace the outline of the sonogram image tucked in my bag, the grainy evidence of a new life taking root within me. Memories of Finn, Silas, and Caeleb sweep through me in a flurry of conflicting emotions. Guilt. Sadness. A stubborn flicker of hope that maybe one day things can be different. The rain outside intensifies, drumming against the glass like persistent tears. I take a deep breath, trying to find a calm center in the storm.

I recall the heartbeat once more. Tears well up, a mixture of fear and a love so fierce it nearly overwhelms me. I need some tethering, even though my mom's won't be the best place to get it. I step outside the office and take a deep breath before hailing a cab. After an hour, it screeches to a halt in front of her building, the faded brick facade as old and familiar as ever. I count to three, pay the fare, and step out, the familiar scent of takeout food and exhaust fumes assaulting my senses.

My hand trembles as I reach for the doorbell. Climbing the familiar stairs floods me with memories I'd rather keep buried. It's a strange mix of comfort and a creeping dread, knowing that just beyond the chipped paint and peeling wallpaper awaits a confrontation I can't postpone any longer.

Mom's face when she opens the door is a whirlwind of emotions—shock, a flicker of worry, and then that familiar warmth that settles like a balm on my frayed spirit. "Emily! Oh, sweetheart, is everything okay?"

Her embrace is almost suffocating, the scent of jasmine and old perfume clinging to her. I fight the urge to melt into her, to become a child again. "I … I need to talk to you, Mom."

She ushers me inside, setting a steaming mug of tea on the coffee table worn smooth by time. Settling into the floral armchair that's always felt a size too big for me, I meet her worried gaze.

"Why didn't you say anything? Why haven't you visited in so long?" Her voice is laced with hurt, a gentle reminder of the months I've spent running from the truth.

"I'm so sorry, Mom. I … I'm pregnant." The words burst out of me, a dam finally breaking. Shock replaces the worry on her face. It's mirrored in the way my fingers clench around the mug, burning heat seeping through the ceramic.

She sits beside me, her hand cautiously covering mine. "Is everything alright? Are you and the baby healthy?"

The tears I've been holding back spill over. "Yes, the baby's fine. It's me … I don't know how to do this alone. I don't want to talk about who the father is, but he's not—" My voice breaks, replaced by a ragged sob.

To my surprise, she doesn't probe. Instead, her thumb traces soothing circles over my knuckles. "Is he involved, sweetheart?"

I shake my head, fresh tears blurring my vision. "No. And I don't want him to be. I don't want my baby to have a father who might leave, disappear." I choke on the words, the familiar sting of abandonment welling up in my throat.

"Oh, Emily." She pulls me into another hug, this one softer, gentler. "Why do you think that would happen?"

"Because," I whisper into her shoulder, "that's what Dad did."

The silence that follows echoes with unspoken pain. Dad hurt Flora and me, but he destroyed my mother. I knew it then, I knew how it impacted her ability to raise us. I don't want that to happen with me.

Mom pulls back slightly, her eyes filled with a sadness that cuts through me. "Darling, I know Harvey wasn't always the best father. But that doesn't mean all men are the same." She pauses, as if choosing her words carefully. "Your father had a difficult childhood. He grew up with …" her voice trails off, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her face.

"With what, Mom?" I ask, a strange sense of foreboding settling over me.

She takes a deep breath. "With a father a lot like himself. Distant. Absent. Harvey didn't know how to be anything else. He married me young, desperate to escape a home that never felt like one. We had you children too soon, when neither of us was prepared for the responsibility of a child, let alone our own lives."

I stare at her, my mind reeling. "So, what? You're saying Dad was a bad father because he didn't have a good role model?"

A flicker of frustration crosses her face. "No, Emily, that's not what I'm saying. There's no excuse for his behavior. But understanding where he came from, the demons he carried with him … it helps to see why he acted the way he did."

"But that doesn't change anything," I whisper, the argument weak even to my own ears.

"It might change how you see the world," she replies softly. "Honey, you can't judge every man by the flawed measure of your father." Her voice holds a pleading note, a desperate hope that I can find a way to let go of the anger and fear that's shaped my life.

"But what if I make the same mistake?" My voice cracks with self-doubt. "What if I pick someone who will abandon my baby just like Dad abandoned me?"

Her hand squeezes mine with surprising strength. "Emily, you are not your father. You are strong, intelligent, and capable of so much love. And you will choose wisely, with your eyes and your heart wide open."

Her words echo in me. She's right, I realize. Dad was doomed from the start. He didn't try to be different, but that's not … that's not how Caeleb, Finn, or Silas are.

I've been so, so stupid. I modeled my concept of fatherhood on my dad and threw it over their shoulders, without bothering to consider how different they are.

"Mom," I say, voice trembling as I stand up. "Is it very foolish to take a flight in my first trimester?"

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