Page 131 of Deceit

I’m being a grown-ass woman and I’m making necessary moves but still used the wrong words—that’swhat I keep telling myself.

I’m pregnant and it’s not yours.

Well, how the hell do I know?

Bishop and I never spoke about kids. I never even gave him a chance to tell me if he wanted to support or even be in the baby’s life.

I have a man who wants to give me everything. And another who chooses a hot night in the sheets and to take care of his ex-girlfriend.

It seems that both of us like to torture ourselves with people who don’t or can’t love us back.

“You wanna order in tonight?” I pull out a black lace gown that goes all the way to the floor and exposes most of my back. “I wanna watch the Curse of Oak Island.” Silence answers me and my eyes flick to the closed door. “You okay in there?”

“Don’t know.”

“I didn’t hear you fall.” Not a peep comes from the other side. I begin to make my way to him when the door swings open, exposing Alexander in a tan towel at his waist and my pregnancy test in his hand.

Fuck.

“Please tell me that you would’ve eventually told me?” he conveys slowly, staring at me like I just grew a second head.

I mean obviously, I would’ve gotten as big as a house in the next few months.

So, all I do is just nod at the sadness and betrayal in his voice.

Though, the things I want to say are smart ass as a defense mechanism. And the others are only matters that I don’t know yet.

Like I’m not sure if this is your kid.

This would be the perfect time for Alexander to run. To dip out as quickly as he can because when he may have thought I was kidding about my being mentally and emotionally unstable, obviously I’m not.

Add on that I kept my pregnancy a secret from the potential father, and you have me.

A wreck.

A bitch.

An asshole.

A loser.

I have zero clue if Bishop will sign divorce papers, and even then, it might not matter. If this child isn’t Alexander's, I’m still gonna be stuck with my soon-to-be ex-husband one way or another.

If hewantsa chance with our child.

He may just tell me to go fly a kite and pray I get electrocuted.

“Are you okay?” I shake my head which promptly gets Alexander to move, holding out his arms for me to walk into.

I wasn’t talking about me. I mean, I’mnotokay, but he shouldn’t be asking me if I am.

He’s too much, I can’t take all his kindness and empathy that clearly he’s full of.

When he hugs me, his body still wet and drenching my shirt, I don’t take any comfort in it.

This is all fucked up.

I messed this up and I deserve to raise my child alone with no support from anyone.

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