Page 18 of Broken Clocks
"So the fuck did I."
I thought it was a stomach bug. I felt like shit for days. Went to the doctor just to be safe. Imagine my surprise when she told me I was pregnant. I took those pills faithfully. But I guess that little half-percent chance becomes real when you're constantly getting your back blown out.
“I’d never want to be pregnant by you.”
I didn’t mean for the “by you” part to slip out, but it did.
His jaw clenched.
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" he snapped. It was the most emotion I’d ever heard in his voice.
“We’re not serious,” I said plainly, even though I wanted to scream. I didn’t say what I really felt—that he was emotionally unavailable, cold as hell when it mattered, and that his job would always come before anything else. You can’t wake up at 7 a.m. ready to defend a client in court when a baby’s been screaming since 2. I knew that. He knew that.
But I’d raise this baby alone if it came down to it.
“I guess we don’t have a choice,” I added. “In seven and a half months, we’ll be parents.”
“What?!” he shouted, leaping up like the floor burned. “No, Life. You gotta get an abortion.”
I heard my own heart crack down the middle. I blinked back the sting in my eyes. I wouldn’t cry. My pride wouldn’t let me.
“Okay. I’ll get an abortion.”
No begging. No fighting. I wasn’t about to spend eighteen years chasing a man who made it clear he didn’t want this.
“I’m sorry, Eshe, but—”
“No buts,” I cut in. “I knew what this was from the start.”
This was my fault. After that first night, I should have left him alone. He told me exactly who he was, and I ignored his testimony.
I pushed myself up from the recliner without another word and headed straight for his bedroom. I needed to get as far away from him as I could. I knew I wasn’t in the right state of mind to drive home.
Suddenly, I was exhausted—down to my bones.
But I still refused to cry.
I stripped out of my clothes and slid beneath his covers. The scent of him wrapped around me, and instead of comfort, it made my stomach turn. I reached for the bottle of Ambien in his nightstand, popped one without water, and let the bitter aftertaste burn my tongue. I didn’t want to think. I just needed sleep.
Eventually, it overtook me.
I woke to the sound of my name. Soft, almost sweet.
He was standing at the foot of the bed when I opened my eyes.
“I have to go to work,” he said.
“Okay.” My voice came out hoarse.
I watched him watch me, his eyes dropping to my barely rounded stomach—not much different than the day he met me. The baby hadn’t even had time to grow yet.
He looked... sad. His eyes were puffy. Maybe he’d been crying.
Or maybe that was just wishful thinking on my part.
Either way—fuck his feelings.
“I’m sorry,” he added, almost whispering. “I got a call.”
