Page 104 of All Her Broken Pieces

“He’s having her baby, and you expect him to choose you? Why would he ever pick you over her?”

“Honey, you’re too pretty to be a secretary.”

“You’ll never get ahead with an attitude like that, but I can make an exception for a body like yours.”

“How can you not want kids?”

“You’d make a terrible mother anyway.”

“Your son can take your personal belongings and wait for you in the waiting area.”

“Aren’t you too old for him?”

The only person who has ever quieted these thoughts in my head and soothed my rough edges is Ethan. I sob, afraid I may have fucked this up forever.

My phone screen lights up the room, and I lean over to read it, swiping at my face so I can make out the words through the bleariness. It’s Ethan’s daily text. I’ve yet to open the thread and read all his messages, but I’ve read most of each one as the notification appeared on my phone. I scroll through until I reach the last one.

Pup

Please talk to me, sweetheart. I love you.

How does he always know what I need, even when he can’t see me? His ability to read me was always unnerving, but for once, it’s the most comforting feeling in the world. The dots start bouncing, and I crack a smile for the first time in weeks.

Are you there? I can see you’ve read my messages now. Thank fuck. Are you okay? Can we talk?

Okay

My screen lights up with an incoming call, and I put it on speakerphone, since I don’t have the strength to hold it to my ear.

“Bridget? Sweetheart, are you okay? Fuck, I’ve missed you so much.” His voice floods my senses, bringing up every emotion I’ve felt over the past few days.

“It’s good to hear your voice,” I croak out between sobs.

“Shit, are you crying? Are you at home? Can I come see you?” he says frantically, as if I’m something ephemeral he’s trying desperately to hold on to.

“Tomorrow at two. We can talk then,” I say before ending the call.

CHAPTER35

Bridget

I holdthe apartment door open as Ethan walks in. His gait doesn’t have the confident swagger it used to, and it hurts wondering if it’s because of me.

“We need to talk,” I start as I motion for the couch.

“Fuck, that’s never a good start,” he says as he sits on the couch next to me. It isn’t lost on me that he’s sitting as close to me as he can without touching me.

“There’s no easy way to say this?—”

“Just rip the fucking Band-Aid off,” he pleads.

Shit, he thinks I’m breaking up with him. I place a hand on his thigh. “A few days ago, I realized that I hadn’t gotten my period and that I was a week late.” His eyes connect with mine, and I don’t see the emotions I expected to see there. I know he said he didn’t want kids, but part of me was sure that the thought of me pregnant would make him happy—yet he’s not smiling.

“The night before Thanksgiving,” he says quietly. “But you were on birth control. Fuck!” he yells, anger lacing his words as he stands. I remain still, giving him space to process his feelings, completely understanding where he’s coming from since I felt the same way when I found out.

“Shit, okay, we’ll figure this out.” He sits and turns to me with a look of determination as he squeezes my hand. “I’ll support you, whatever you want to do.”

“I’m not pregnant. It was a false alarm. Probably residual hormone issues from my remaining ovary or the hormones in the pill fucking with my system.”

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