Page 29 of Guarded from Treachery

There will be stretches of time when I forget—when I’m wrapped up with work or focused on a complicated yoga pose or fully immersed in the newest building I’m constructing inMinecraft.

Then I’ll remember, like an icy wave crashing into me, stunning me and stealing my breath.

I was attacked not just once, but twice. One time could be terrible luck, like the police insisted it was. But for it to happen a second time? And in another parking lot, no less?

Could my luck really be that bad?

Add in the cars following me for over a week, the man trying to break into my apartment, and the creepy home invasion, there’s no way they could all be a coincidence.

If that’s where it ended, I don’t think I’d have such a hard time wrapping my head around everything. Would I still be scared? Would I still jump at tiny noises, my heart flying into my throat at the innocent sound of the icemaker kicking on or a text coming in? Would I still have nightmares of being abducted, thrown into a car by a shadowy man with a terrifyingly flat gaze?

Yes. Absolutely.

But I wouldn’t wonder if I was losing my mind.

Even though I’m ninety-nine percent certain I’m not, I can’t escape the niggling worry.

What if this is all in my head? What if I was assaulted and subconsciously blocked it out? What if I’ve concocted this story about a mysterious pregnancy because my mind doesn’t want to deal with reality?

Pregnant.

How can it be?

When the nurse first called with the results from the doctor’s office, I outright laughed at her. And when she persisted, I firmly told her she must have the wrong person’s results. There was no wayIcould be pregnant.

But one call from the doctor and ten at-home tests later, I had to accept it.

Me.Pregnant. I don’t know exactly how far along, but based on when I last got my period, I’d have to guess about ten weeks.

But it’s not possible. It’snot. I haven’t been on a date in months. Like I told Matt, I haven’t even been out for more than a drink, and I went home by myself every time. I can’t even blame it on some skeezy doctor or dentist—which is horrible to think about, but I had to consider it—because prior to my appointment last week, I hadn't seen a medical professional in months.

So how could it have happened?

When I let myself really think about it instead of busying my mind with pretty much anything else, it’s all I can do to keep from losing it.

Pregnant.

I’ve always wanted kids—it’s why I broke up with my last boyfriend, in fact, after he announced he never wanted children and there was no chance of him changing his mind. Not that it was any big loss, since our relationship was fizzling out, anyway. And in the year since, I’ve only been on a handful of first dates, not even coming close to having sex with any of them.

So how did this happen?

I’m on birth control, for Pete’s sake. Have been for years.

Or at least Iwasuntil I got the news from my doctor.

In all this insanity, in the moments when I’m moments from bursting into hysterical tears, when I’m battling nausea from nerves and morning sickness, there’s one thing I’m absolutely certain of.

It’s not the baby’s fault. And whatever happens, I’m determined to make sure he or she is okay.

If this happened to another woman, I wouldn’t judge her, regardless of the decision she made. I would say it was her choice, and hers alone.

But for me,justme, there’s no question.

I haven’t thought much past that, aside from ordering some supplements online and cutting out my afternoon cup of coffee. I haven’t been to my OB-GYN yet, even though Matt has offered to take me any time I need. Since he got here three days ago, he’s been sweetly persistent about it, each morning asking if I’d like him to take me to any appointments or if I need help finding a referral.

Just this morning, he even offered to work his computer magic, as I call it, to get me into the best OB in the city. “Jade said the best doctors get booked up,” he explained as the tips of his ears went red, “but I could get you in to whoever you want. It wouldn’t be a problem.”

Sweet Matt.

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