Page 15 of Fateful Exposure

Besides, what were the chances that he would even want the shackles of raising a child without its mother? Didn't men usually run away from that kind of responsibility?

My chest felt like it was constricting, and I couldn't breathe. I sucked in enough air, my breathing coming out in short, loud rasps.

"Oh, my God, I'm going to have a baby." My hand shot to my throat as if tugging at the skin of my neck would aid my breathing.

"Calm down, Selma." Dr. Spear was instantly at my side, patting my back softly. "It's absolutely normal to have a baby when one has unprotected sex."

Is she mocking me? Why does it feel like she’s mocking me?

"I can't believe how careless I was," I sighed weakly.

"Don't beat yourself up. It happens."

I tried to laugh, but it was more of a scoff. "Tell me about it."

"Is the problem the father?" she asked.

Usually, I wouldn't disclose any personal information to a stranger, but Dr. Spear made it so easy to talk to her, and it felt like she would actually listen and not judge me. Besides, she was a gynecologist. I doubted that there was much I could say that she hadn't already heard before.

"He's an asshole,” I muttered.

"Hmm." She made a sound at the back of her throat, moving around the table to sit on her chair. "In what sense? Is he abusive?"

I shook my head. Somehow, I just knew that Ashton would never hurt me. "No. I mean that he's basically a dick."

She chuckled. "Well, most men usually are. You just have to find the one you can tolerate."

The exact opposite of Ashton. When I met her gaze, I realized with a little smile what she had been trying—and successfully managed—to do: distract me.

"Thank you," I whispered.

"You're welcome. What are you going to do?"

"I'm keeping it."

Dr. Spear nodded. "And will you tell him?"

I hesitated. "I don't know."

It was better to keep Ashton out of it. I knew it wasn't fair to him as the father; I would want to know if the roles were reversed. But it was better this way—for all of us. We would work on my line, and when that was done, we would both go our separate ways, with him none the wiser.

Dr. Spear prescribed some supplements for me and gave me a checkup date to return. I thanked her and promptly left, calling it a day and going straight home. After texting Rose to tell her I wouldn't be coming into the office today—I needed time before dealing with Ashton again—I threw my phone into my bag and walked home. My driver had dropped me off earlier, but I'd given him the day off with instructions to drive my car back to my place.

As I stepped out of the hospital, the crisp air of uncertainty embraced me, mingling with the weight of the news of my pregnancy. My mind whirled with conflicting emotions, and I struggled to grapple with the revelation that I had a piece of Ashton within me.

I had no idea how I felt about the news. I'd never thought about having kids before, and certainly never as a single mother. Sex with Alex had always been protected. We'd used condoms for the first few months of our relationship until I'd started taking birth control.

In hindsight, my parents played a huge role in shaping that perspective. My mother had been a single mother, and while my father had been in the picture—at least at first—he'd been absent most of the time. I saw how she'd struggled for years just to put me through school. I saw how she worked morning and night, resulting in me being frequently alone.

Fashion had been my best friend and, eventually, my entire life. When my mother recognized my passion for it, she worked even harder to put me through an expensive fashion school. I appreciated her and would for the rest of my life, but she'd had to be strong after being thrust alone into a situation that two irresponsible people had come together to orchestrate.

In the beginning, I thought my father had been doing his best. He'd show up with apologies for broken promises, after which he'd make new promises. I believed him for a while. Sometimes, for days, he’d go AWOL. Then days transformed into weeks and weeks into months, and hope turned into longing. Eventually, I stopped hoping. I realized very early on as a child that grief was akin to an amputation, leaving an ache that echoed through the depths of my being. Yet, hope, like incurable hemophilia, persisted despite the relentless bleeding it brought.

My mother had been strong; I didn't want to be. Unlike most people, I didn't think there was anything wrong with being weak. You just had to know when to pick your battles.

Besides, who was to say Ashton would be happy to hear the news? What if he recoiled in shock, or worse, denied any connection to the life growing within me? Hadn't he been the one to accuse me of sleeping with him to seduce him into working for me? He was a dick, really.

I took a deep breath as I rounded a corner. This baby was mine, for better or worse, and the choice was mine to make. Ashton was better off without the baggage.

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