Page 121 of Knocked Up by My Fake Fiancé
Then her words sink in. I freeze and meet her eyes.
"What did you say?"
"I…" She takes another breath, steadying herself. "I found out the other day—when your mom came to see me at my office. I found out that morning."
It takes a moment to process.
"How… why…?" My throat goes dry. I sit up too, as if sitting upright will somehow help me think. "You didn't tell me."
"I wanted to," she says quickly, "but I thought you'd be mad."
"Mad?" I echo. "Why would I be mad?"
"Because I'm pretty sure it happened the first time—in your office." Her voice trembles. "Do you remember what you told me after we… after we slept together?"
"Vaguely."
Shame rushes through me. I remember saying something cruel—that she should "take care of any complications." Cold. Brutal.
God, I was such a dick.
Where did I get off telling her something like that when I was the one who forgot to wrap up?
It wasn't even anger at her—it was shame. Shame that she'd made me lose control so completely I forgot the basics.
"Yeah," she says quietly. "I took the morning-after pill afterward, but I guess it didn't work, because… I ended up pregnant anyway."
"Oh," I manage. My voice sounds strange to my own ears. "That's… fine. Totally fine."
"No, it's not." Her tone carries more hurt than fear.
My brain is buzzing like a neon light with a faulty wire. Everything feels off, unfocused. I reach out and take her hand because it's her reaction I care about most.
"Do you not want to be pregnant?" I ask carefully.
"I don't know," she admits. "It's just… it's not a good time. I have so much left to do. I don't have time for a baby, and who even knows if I'd be a good mom?"
"You'll be an incredible mom," I tell her. "You don't have to keep it if you don't want to—but whether or not you'd be good at it? That's not even in question. You'd be amazing."
She gives a shy, uncertain smile, eyes dropping to her hands. "I don't know."
"Why do you think you wouldn't be?"
She hesitates. "I mean… what if your mother has a point?"
I stare at her. "Are you serious? Did something happen to you in the last hour? Did you just ask me if my mother was right?"
She giggles softly. "Okay, maybe not about everything. But what if, because I'm so focused on my job, I neglect my kid and it grows up resenting me for it?"
"The fact that you're even worried about that proves it won't happen. You're ambitious, sure, but never at the expense of people you care about. I see how you treat your team, your parents. You show up for them even when you're busy. What makes you think you'd be any different with your own child?"
"I don't know," she murmurs again.
"Besides," I add gently, "it's not just on you. I'm the kid's parent too, and I'm not going to be some deadbeat who writes checks and disappears to work. I'll be there—really there. I want to be involved."
Her gaze softens, but she studies her fingers again.
"Do you not want kids?" I ask.
