Page 39 of Daddy's Dirty Little Secret

I stared down at my plate, watching the edge of my egg yolk slide toward my toast. My chest felt hot. My breath caught halfway in.

Claire added without missing a beat, “Jenna’s going through the same thing. Barely eight weeks and sick as a dog. Poor girl can’t even keep crackers down.”

The sound of my pulse rose in my ears.

I hadn’t had a fever, but I hadn’t been sleeping well. That was normal for someone who was so stressed about things. With everything happening with Dad, I couldn’t rest if I tried.

Still, Xander and I never used protection, but I was on the pill, so it didn’t feel like a risk. I hadn’t had a period in months though, which was expected, and the idea of being pregnant didn’t make sense to me. It didn’t line up. But as they kept talking about morning sickness, the thought started to settle in my mind. I tried to push it away. I kept telling myself there was no reason to worry, but the more I tried, the harder it was to believe.

“Sometimes you don’t even feel sick until week eight,” Claire said, and my mind started tallying the weeks now. It was the second week of April; Xander and I had sex on New Year’s Eve. Again, two weeks later when I was just getting over bronchitis, and then a week later we started our arrangement. That was almost ten weeks ago now. My God…

The roll on my plate looked pale and dense and wrong. My fingers curled under the edge of the chair, gripping hard. I couldn’t tell if it was the smell of the sausage or the weight of their voices, but I knew I needed to leave the room.

I pushed back my chair, careful not to knock anything over. “Excuse me,” I said, barely hearing my own voice. No one looked up right away. They were still laughing about something Claire had said, still passing dishes like nothing had shifted. No one stopped me.

The hallway felt longer than usual, the light dimmer. I kept my steps quiet, steady, even as the pressure in my stomach built with every breath. The bathroom door stuck in the frame, and I had to shove it open with more force than I meant to.

I dropped to my knees and leaned over the toilet just as the nausea tipped past its breaking point. The retching was sharp and sudden, leaving my eyes stinging and my throat raw. I stayed there with my palms pressed against the cold tile, waiting to see if more would come up, but it didn’t. I wiped my mouth with a tissue and unsteady hands, then sat back against the wall.I tried to slow my breathing, but the thought had already taken hold.

This wasn’t just stress or bad food. I couldn’t explain it away as easily as I had the last few days. I didn’t want to believe it could be possible, but now I couldn’t think about anything else. I wrapped my arms around my stomach, not sure if I was trying to hold something in or keep something out. Fear threatened to keep me planted on the bathroom floor, but the last thing I wanted was for them to come looking and find me a nervous wreck, so I pushed myself up and returned to the dining room.

I fought through the rest of brunch with a smile that didn’t fit. The food on my plate stayed mostly untouched, but I moved it around to make it look like I was eating. My aunts didn’t notice. They were too busy talking about Claire’s oldest grandchild and the price of honey hams. Dad barely looked at me. He kept fiddling with his silverware, stacking and unstacking the knife and fork between sips of whatever he’d poured himself.

When the last plate was cleared and the laughter started to quiet, I stood and grabbed my coat. I told Dad I wasn’t feeling great and needed to get home. He offered me a distracted nod and told me to drive safe.

I didn’t go home, not right away. I drove straight to the pharmacy, hands gripping the wheel so tightly my knuckles hurt. I parked and sat there for a few minutes before I could force myself inside. The test was on the second shelf, next to the allergy meds. I didn’t read the box, didn’t compare brands. I just grabbed it and paid.

The apartment felt too empty when I stepped through the front door. It felt wrong to do this alone when most happy couples were together and celebratory during something like this. I hated that feeling. I didn’t even take off my shoes; I wentstraight to the bathroom, ripped open the box with trembling fingers, and followed the directions without letting myself think.

I didn’t pace while I waited. I sat on the edge of the tub and stared at the floor, at the grout between the tiles. I could hear the blood rushing in my ears. I set a timer on my phone and when it went off, I reached for the test with a hand I barely recognized as mine.

Two lines.

I blinked, hoping I had read it wrong. I read it again. And again.

I pressed my hand to my mouth and started shaking. I didn’t mean to cry at first, but the sound came out anyway. Then everything spilled over. I sank to the floor and curled in on myself, sobbing until I couldn’t breathe.

This couldn’t be happening. I had done everything right. Or enough of the right things. I told myself it wasn’t possible. I had believed it. And now everything felt out of control.

Xander had made it clear from the beginning. No strings. No plans. No future. I hadn’t expected anything from him, but I never imagined this. I thought at some point I’d fall in love, and he’d figure it out and end things, and I’d be heartbroken, quit my job, and be out of work and desperate. Not this. Not a baby.

My phone lit up, buzzing softly on the counter and I almost ignored it. However, I saw Godwin’s caller ID and knew he would help me. I didn’t want to pick up and expose my shame, but my hand moved before I could stop it. My heart knew what I needed.

“Hey, happy Easter,” he said. “Just checking in?—”

“I’m pregnant.” The words came out strangled. “I’m pregnant, and I don’t know what to do.”

There was a pause on the other end, just long enough to make me think I shouldn’t have said anything. The way I word vomited on him probably shocked him.

Then his voice came back with a firm tone and the strength I needed in that moment. “Hold on. I’m coming. We’ll figure it out. I’ve got you.”

The line went dead. I clutched the phone to my chest and curled back into the corner, tears running hot down my cheeks.

I didn’t know how this could get worse.

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