Page 43 of Mafia Pregnancy

If that boy is my son, Danielle was right to protect him from my world. The question is whether I’m willing to change that world to be part of his life.

I put off considering that answer for now. I won’t need to make such choices if he’s not mine. That would be the easiest outcome, but the idea of hearing someone else fathered him makes my chest ache. It’s not strictly from jealousy at the idea of another man having such an important position in Danielle’s life. It’s far more complex, and as I tentatively consider the idea I might be a father, the thought fills me with unexpected yearning for something I never knew I wanted.

13

Danielle

Iwake up with my stomach churning and the bitter taste of nausea coating my mouth. The morning sickness hits harder today than it has in weeks, sending me scrambling to the bathroom, where I dry heave over the toilet for ten minutes before my stomach finally settles.

Thirteen weeks. The reminder pulses through my head as I splash cold water on my face and brush my teeth. Each day that passes brings me closer to the point where hiding this pregnancy becomes impossible.

Back in my bedroom, I pull on my work polo and reach for my khakis, but when I try to button them, the waistband won’t close. Not even close. The fabric strains across my hips and refuses to meet in the middle.

Panic flutters in my chest until I remember the hair elastic trick Carmen showed me years ago. I loop the elastic through the buttonhole and around the button, creating just enough give to make the pants wearable. The polo shirt covers the improvisedfastening, but it’s a pointed reminder that my body is changing whether I’m ready or not.

Leo is still asleep when I peek into his room, curly hair spread across his pillow and one arm wrapped around his stuffed dinosaur. He doesn’t have preschool today, which means I’ll drop him at Aunt Molly’s house on my way to work. “Morning, sweetheart.” I gently shake his shoulder. “Time to get up. You’re going to spend the day with Aunt Molly.”

He blinks sleepily, then sits up with the sudden energy only children seem to possess. “Can we make cookies again?”

“You’ll have to ask her.” I help him into clothes and pack his backpack with toys and snacks. “Remember to be good, okay?”

“I’m always good.”

His innocent confidence makes my chest ache. He trusts me completely to make the right decisions for both of us, and lately, I’m not sure I deserve that faith.

The drive to Aunt Molly’s house passes quickly, with Leo chattering about his plans for cookie-making. I try to match his enthusiasm, but my mind keeps drifting to job applications and the growing difficulty of hiding this pregnancy. “I love you, baby.” I kiss his forehead as I walk him to Molly’s front door. “Be good for Aunt Molly.”

“Love you too, Mommy.”

Molly opens the door with a warm smile, but I catch her studying my face with the sharp attention she’s always had for details. “You look tired, sweetheart. Everything okay?”

“Just work stress.” I force a smile and hand over Leo’s backpack. “I’ll pick him up around five if that’s all right?”

“Of course. We’re going to have a wonderful day, aren’t we, Leo?”

He nods enthusiastically and disappears into the house, already asking about cookie ingredients. Molly lingers in the doorway, watching me with the expression she used to wear when I was younger and trying to hide something from her. “Danielle, you know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

The offer is tempting, but this situation is too complicated and dangerous to drag her into. “I know. Thank you.” I back toward my car before she can probe deeper. “I really need to get to work.”

When I arrive at the estate, Carmen is waiting in the staff kitchen with two steaming mugs. She hands me one as I hang up my jacket, and I inhale the unfamiliar scent. “What’s this?”

“Raspberry tea.” She settles into the chair beside me, lowering her voice. “I read it helps strengthen and tone the uterine muscles for an easier delivery.”

I groan softly but say, “Thank you.” I wrap my hands around the warm ceramic, grateful for the thoughtfulness even as it reminds me how obvious my condition is becoming.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like I’m running out of time.” I take a sip of the tea, surprised by how soothing it is. “None of the agencies I approached had anything. I even checked Utah and South Dakota. Then I spent half the night applying for jobs online. There’s still nothing that pays enough or offers the schedule flexibility I need.”

Carmen studies my face with concern. “Maybe it’s time to consider other options?”

“Such as?” I already know what she’s going to say though.

“Telling him the truth.”

I shake my head before she can continue. “We talked about this. He made his position clear when I asked him to choose.”

“That was before he knew about the children.”

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