Page 96 of Before I Loved You

There’s not a hint of doubt in my voice.

She’s the one.

“Ahh,” my mom muses. “Do you think that’s why you were so hurt? Because you love her?” she asks, knowing the answer.

“Possibly,” I murmur, hating that she’s always right. I shake my head. “I should never have walked out on her.”

Mom nudges my shoulder with her own. “So what are you going to do about it?”

I stare at the ceiling, racking my brain for an answer.

What am I going to do?

What does Sarah need me to do to prove I can be there for her and the baby?

I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling ashamed of how I handled finding out she was pregnant. I want to think there was a valid reason why she didn’t tell me, but there’s no reason I can believe that would have kept me away from her.

If she had told me she was pregnant, I would have been there for her from day one.

I would have supported her with any and every decision.

But the moment I found out she was pregnant, I did the one thing she may never forgive me for.

I let her go.

I did what everyone else has always done to her.

As I flash back to the disaster I saw at Sarah’s apartment, it occurs to me what I need to do to prove I’ll always take care of her.

I eye the time on my phone, noting how late it is and knowing I can’t do what I need to until Sarah leaves for work tomorrow.

“I think I know what to do, but it’s kind of late now. Is it okay if I stay here tonight?” I ask.

“Well, that’s a silly question when you have a bedroom here.” My mom chuckles.

I stand, stretching, rubbing my full stomach. “I’m going to head to bed. Thanks for talking with me, Mom.”

“Of course, honey.” She stands, wrapping her arms around my waist quickly before letting go. She pats my chest encouragingly. “Do what you need to do to get your girl back.”

I would move mountains and rivers or even set the whole damn world on fire if it meant I could get my girl back.

But I’m hopeful that assembling some baby furniture is a decent start to prove to her that I will always take care of her.

And I am never, ever leaving that stubborn raven-haired, green-eyed beauty again for as long as I live.

* * *

After waking up early and eating an all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet my mom insisted on making, I headed to the local improvement store before driving to Sarah’s apartment.

I know she’s not home. It’s why I purposely chose to come at this time. But just in case, I knock on her door, thankful when she doesn’t answer. My fingers reach above the doorframe, where I can see a spare key hiding from people who aren’t my height, and I use it to unlock her door.

Walking inside, I’m immediately hit with an overwhelming sense of guilt.

Every piece of disassembled baby furniture is exactly where it was when I was last here, looking like Sarah gave it her all, but it was just too much for her to do by herself.

And I wish she knew she didn’t have to do this alone.

I walk around, picking up the instruction manuals flung nearby and the flimsy tools they came with, knowing these only made things more difficult for her than they needed to be. They weren’t setting her up for success at all.

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