Page 89 of Pregnant in Plaid
"You can visit. We'll work something out."
"Work something out?" I'm so angry I can barely see straight. "You're talking about custody arrangements! We're talking about our child!"
"Our child will be fine!" She spins to face me. "Children have divorced parents all the time!"
"We're not even together and you're already planning the divorce?"
"We were never together!" she yells. "We had one night seven months ago and two weeks of forced proximity! That's not a relationship, Trace! That's just—that's just circumstances!"
The words hurt more than they should. More than I expected.
"Is that really what you think?" I ask quietly.
She doesn't answer. She just turns back to her packing.
"Fine." I head toward the door. "If you get on that plane, I'll follow you to Florida. I'm not missing the birth of my child."
"Suit yourself." Her voice is cold. Distant. Like the Patrice I fell in love with is already gone and this is just a stranger wearing her face.
I leave before I say something I'll regret. Before I beg her to stay. Before I do something pathetic like get down on my knees and ask her why I'm not enough.
I go to the workshop because it's the only place I can think clearly. I grab a piece of wood—something I was planning to carve into a mobile for the baby's crib—and I stare at it.
Was she right? Was I just playing house? Was everything I felt last night just some misguided sense of obligation?
No.
No, I love her. I know I do. I've known it since the moment she walked back into my life. Maybe even before that. Maybe I've loved her since that first night in June when she made me laugh and challenged me and looked at me like I was someone worth knowing.
But she doesn't believe me. Or she does and she's too scared to accept it.
Either way, she's leaving.
Through the window, I see Tessa's car pull up. I watch Patrice walk out with her suitcase, moving carefully, one hand on her belly. Tessa gets out and helps her load the luggage into the trunk.
They talk for a moment. Tessa glances toward the workshop, like she's debating whether to come talk to me. Patrice shakes her head. Says something I can't hear.
Patrice doesn't look back. Not once.
The car pulls away, and I stand there like an idiot, watching the taillights disappear down the road.
My phone buzzes. I pull it out, hoping it's her. It's not.
Gage: Tessa just texted. Patrice is staying with us tonight. What the hell happened?
I don't know how to answer that. I don't even know what happened. One minute we were perfect, and the next everything was falling apart.
Me: We had a fight. She's leaving tomorrow. Going back to Florida.
Gage: And you're letting her?
The question makes me angry.
Me: I can't physically stop her. She made her choice.
Gage: Have you told her how you feel?
Me: Yes. She doesn't believe me.
