Page 28 of By the Letter

“Okay,” she whispered.

“Fuck,” I gritted out, pissed I was going about this all wrong. “Look, I’m sorry. This is a lot, and I’m not in my best form. I need to wrap my head around this, but I’m in, Shira. That isn’t a question at all.”

“That’s good. I understand it’s a shock. I still can’t believe it and my body hasn’t felt like my own for weeks.”

She wasn’t as green as she’d been the last time I’d seen her, but she was still far too pale, her cheeks disturbingly gaunt. I hadn’t liked it before I knew she was carrying my baby. Now, it made me furious. With no one to aim my anger at, I got up to pace the length of her empty living room.

“How are you?” I flexed my hands at my sides. “I know you’re not well, but are you doing better? Your friend Bea mentioned medication? Is it helping?”

“I’m doing better, yes. I’ve only thrown up once today, which is incredible for me lately.”

I halted my steps, my eyes lasering in on her. “Because of me?”

Her mouth twitched, but her eyes only lifted to my chin. “It was pretty shocking to find out the man who hates me is the father of my baby.”

“I don’t hate you, Shira. That’s not—”

“It’s fine.” She sucked in a breath, her shoulders rising around her ears. “We can talk about what coparenting will look like later. I’m not up for that right now.”

“That’s a good idea. You need to rest, and I need to let all this sink in.”

I cupped the back of my neck, my gaze sweeping over her. She was so damn delicate, even more so than she’d been in room ten. I didn’t like knowing something I’d done to her was making her as sick as she was. Was it even good for the kid if their mother was throwing up all the time? I had no idea. As soon as I got home, I was going to be looking it up.

“Oh...” Shira climbed to her feet, her cat still tucked against her chest, “I have something for you if you want it.”

I tracked her path into the kitchen, listened to her opening and closing a drawer, and watched her walk back to me. She stopped a good three feet away and extended her hand.

“This is from yesterday,” she said softly. “That's why I was late.”

I took the printout from her, my brow furrowing as I studied it. The image was grainy, and I was no expert, but I made out a round head, torso, and four limbs.

“Holy hell,” I hissed. “It already looks like a baby.”

“Bea downloaded an app. She said the baby’s the size of a strawberry this week.”

I lifted my gaze to look at Shira again. She’d let her cat down and was standing with one foot on top of the other, her sweater twisted around her fist. I made her nervous. How had I not seen that before? But I knew. I’d been blinded by my agenda. I’d gone into GoldMed with a narrative of how things would play out and refused to see anything that didn’t fit that.

“A strawberry?” Using my thumb and index finger, I made a circle about that size, and my heart slammed against my chest. “With legs and arms…I need to download that app. Need to do a lot.”

I held the ultrasound up, unsurprised to find my hand shaking. “Thank you for this. Is it all right if I show it to my brothers?”

“Oh, um…” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah, if you want to. I’ve shown it to Bea and Clara—well, they were with me, so they saw it live and in person, but you know what I mean.”

“Right. I’m glad they were there with you.” I took a step back. “I’m going to let you rest. I will text you my phone number so you can let me know when your next appointment is. If you’re comfortable with it, I’d like to be there. And if you need anything else, get in touch with me. Please.”

“Thank you, Roman.”

Her agreement felt more cursory than true, but I couldn’t blame her. Up until an hour ago, I hadn’t once treated her with kindness. Luckily, I had six months to turn that ship around. She was the mother of my child, and I refused to bring our baby into the world in the midst of dissonance.

Once I let this new settle in, I’d make a plan to become the best friend Shira Goldman ever had.

First, I had a baby fruit app to download.

Chapter Twelve

Shira

It took another dayto convince Bea I could be on my own. As much as I loved her company, she had a business to run, and I didn’t need to be babysat from sunup to sundown. The medicine was helping with my nausea, but if I was honest, the reduction in my stress levels from no longer bearing the burden of keeping my late husband’s company afloat had made the biggest impact. I could finally take a breath without worrying about what I should have been doing, who I should have been talking to, or what literal or figurative fire I should have been putting out.

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