Page 135 of Not Another Yesterday
“Ran?” I start, gathering every ounce of strength to initiate the conversation I know we have to have. “Do… do you…” I stutter and stumble. “I mean…”
He stops mid-bite, looking at me, brows raised in quiet encouragement. I’m too scared to ask the question outright.
“You know we don’t have to keep it,” I say with heavy meaning wedged between the words.
“You mean, like, adoption?” he asks carefully.
I nod slowly. “Yeah, or, you know… termination?”
He looks at me again—his eyes searching mine—and then exhales, something unreadable shifting behind his gaze.
“Baby,” he says, his voice calm but serious. “I need you to know that my next words are the truth. No hidden meaning. No subtext. No secrets, okay? I know I haven’t always been totally open, but I told you: no more bullshit.”
I nod, signaling that I understand.
“Whatever you want,” he says simply.
I blink.
“Whatever you want,” he repeats, firmer now. “I don’t want you to hold back because of me. If you want to have this baby and give it up for adoption, then that’s what we’ll do. If you don’t want to carry the pregnancy to term, then I’ll be by your side through that. If youwant to have this baby… with me… then we will have this baby. It’s your body. The only person who gets to decide what happens next isyou.”
I think my heart just left my body, climbed into his lap, and curled up there. “Love” suddenly feels like too small a word for what I feel for him right now.
He looks at me again. “So what do you want, baby? Given everything. What do you truly want?”
I sit with the question for a moment, pretending to think it over. But I already know. I’ve known since I saw that little worm twitch on the ultrasound screen. Maybe even before that—maybe the moment I saw the two pink lines.
I’ve weighed every version of this life: one where we walk away, one where we give someone else the chance to raise it, one where we try and fail and break ourselves in the process.
But none of them felt right. None of them felt likeus.
“I want to keep it,” I whisper.
For a moment, guilt wants to nip at me for how easily I say it, for thrusting us into something so utterly life-changing when I know how he’s felt, know what a line this crossed for him, even if unintentionally.
“Okay,” he says.
I wait. He’s not done. His jaw clenches.
“But what I told you in Montana still goes. If I lash out at you or… or the baby, you walk. Youhaveto promise me that, Cat. It’s the only way I’ll be able to sleep at night. I need to know that you’re ready to protect yourself and—”
I rest my hand on his right arm. “I’m ready, Ran. I won’t need to, but I’m ready.”
He exhales shakily. “Okay.”
“Okay. And… you’ll need to protect me from my dad.” The next storm is already building in the distance; I feel my blood pressure rise just thinking about it.
Ronan lets out a dry, humorless laugh. “Only if you’ll protect me from mine.”
I snort. “Deal.”
“Fuck,” he mutters.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Fuck.”
Ronan
I don’t rouse Cat from her sleep. She passed out on the couch about an hour ago. She looks so relaxed, sleeping peacefully for the first time, I imagine, since finding out she’s pregnant.
