Page 41 of Sexting the Don

I clutch the edges of my seat, trying to ground myself, a reminder of my determination to be able to handle whatever comes my way, even if I have to do it alone.

The receptionist's voice breaks through my thoughts, "Mandy C.?"

I stand up, smoothing out my jeans, a nervous habit, and follow her through the door to the examination room.

The room is clinical but friendly. There's a typical examination table, a couple of chairs, and those inescapable, slightly unsettling medical posters on the walls. The nurse smiles at meas she hands me a gown.

"The doctor will be with you shortly," she says before slipping out.

Soon enough, the doctor arrives, clipboard in hand, all smiles and professional warmth.

"How are we feeling today, Mandy?" she asks, her tone light.

"Pretty overwhelmed," I admit, not really managing more than a half-smile.

She nods understandingly as she goes through the usual round of questions about my health, my family history, and my last period. She has me take another test just to confirm what the home test already showed.

The wait for the results feels endless, each second ticking by like a slow drumbeat in my chest. But finally, the doctor returns, an uncertain smile on her face.

"It's confirmed, Mandy. You're pregnant."

The rest of the appointment is a blur. Pamphlets, talk of prenatal vitamins, and instructions for next appointments are lost on me as I sit in dumbfounded silence.

My mind is a swirling tornado of thoughts and emotions on the bus ride home. I'm grateful for the empty seat next to me, needing the space to sort through everything. The doctor's confirmation was no surprise, really, but hearing it out loud made it all too real.

I’m glad I’ve got the evening off and that Enzo is tied up with whatever mob bosses do. Tonight, I need the quiet; I need to figure out my next steps. There's a lot to consider, and top of thatlist is telling Enzo he’s going to be a father.

But how do I do that? His life is the definition of dangerous. Is that a world in which I can raise a child? The thought sends a shiver down my spine.

I have no idea if he will want to be involved or if he will run for the hills as soon as he finds out.

Then there are my jobs. I'm a personal trainer by day and a waitress by night. The training I can probably keep up throughout most of the pregnancy; lots of women do almost to full term. But once I start showing, it’s going to get tougher. I’ll need to adjust my routines and maybe take on fewer clients.

The waitressing gig is what really worries me. It’s grueling on a good day, and I can only imagine how much harder it will be on my back and feet as the months tick by and I get bigger. But I need both incomes, especially now. Dropping any shifts isn't an option. I've got to keep working both jobs as long as I possibly can.

For now, all I can do is plan for myself and my baby. Tonight, I will start sketching out what the future might look like for us. It's overwhelming but also, in a strange way, empowering. This is my chance to do something truly meaningful, no matter how challenging it might be.

I hop off the bus and start down my street, everything appearing more rundown than usual. Maybe it's this whole mom thing starting to sink in, making me take a closer look at where I'm living. The peeling paint and trash-strewn sidewalks hit me harder. Is this really where I want my kid growing up? Playing? Exploring?

As I turn the corner and head up the driveway to my garage apartment, I can hear Jimmy shouting and my mom crying from inside the house. It's the same old song and dance, but then I hear something that freezes me in my tracks—a slap—loud and clear.

With a new kind of fury, I storm onto the porch. I'm done standing by doing nothing. I'm about to be a mother, and I can't let this kind of thing slide—not today, not ever. It's time to stand up and stop this, once and for all.

I burst through the door, my heart pounding in my chest, and the scene that greets me sends my blood boiling. My mom is on the floor, clutching her reddened cheek, while Jimmy looms over her, his face twisted with anger. The sight ignites a rage in me like I've never felt before.

Without thinking, I grab a pan from the nearby counter, my grip tight.

Jimmy spots me, and his expression shifts to one of mock concern.

"Calm down, nugget," he sneers, waving his hands like he's the voice of reason. "Don't be irrational."

"Irrational?" I shoot back; my voice is steady but cold as ice. "I’ve never been clearer. This ends now." I tighten my grip on the pan, ready to swing it if I have to.

Meanwhile, Mom scrambles to her feet, her voice shaky as she tries to brush it all off. "Sweetie, honey, it’s nothing, just an argument, we—"

But I cut her off. I see the red mark on her cheek, glaringly obvious before she can cover it again with her hand. That'sall the confirmation I need. I advance toward Jimmy; the pan raised, my anger boiling over.

"Who the hell do you think you are, hitting your wife like that?"

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