Page 71 of Flawed

I cringe. My mother's always had this sixth sense about her. It's like she knows everything before anybody can even mutter a word. I stayed away all these months, knowing she would somehow know, even though I'm not showing very much and my jacket is still on.

To make matters worse, she takes her hand, unfastens two buttons, and slides it on my stomach. Her face turns white. "Ma chérie, are you pregnant?"

Tears slowly fall from my eyes. Months of emotions choke me. All I can do is nod.

She gasps. "How far along are you?"

I sniffle and admit, "Six months."

"Six months! And you don't tell your mother?" she shrieks.

Shame becomes a blanket cocooning all around me.

She takes my hand and pulls me over to the couch. We sit, and she orders, "You need to start talking, Chanel."

I swallow the lump in my throat, admitting, "I didn't know how to tell you."

Her eyes turn to slits. "And why is this? I am your mother!"

More guilt and humiliation fill me. I stay quiet.

She lowers her voice. "Who is the father?"

My face heats.

"You don't know?" she asks in horror.

"No! Of course I know who he is! But that's why I didn't want to tell you," I confess.

"Well, who is he?" she pushes.

I shake my head.

Confusion fills her expression. "So you don't know who the father is?"

I hold my hands in the air. "No. I know who the father is. But I'm not telling you who he is. And he doesn't know, either."

Shock fills her face. "Why would you not tell him? This baby is his own flesh and blood."

More tears slip down my cheeks. I look away.

She reaches for my chin and turns it toward her. "Chanel, why would you not tell the father?"

My entire body shakes. My lips tremble so hard, my teeth almost chatter. I barely manage to get out, "He's not who I thought he was, Mom."

Concern fills her face. She questions, "What does that mean? Did he hurt you?"

"No. Nothing like that."

"Then what do you mean?"

I don't know how to answer her without telling her the truth, and I'm never letting the cat out of the bag. I insist, "You need to trust me on this. And it's nobody you know."

She stares at me, and it scares me. I don't know what she's thinking. It's one of the rare times in my life that I just can't figure it out. She finally squeezes my hand. "Are you sure you're not going to tell the father?"

"Yes," I adamantly confirm.

She waits a moment and asks again, "You really won't tell me who he is? Just so I know?"

---