Page 56 of The Grumpy Billionaire Baby Daddy

"I'm sure he has. I turned my phone off."

She exhales and runs her hands through my hair.

"Are you sure leaving was the right thing? You know… it's kind of like running off with his baby. Plus, you said a spark was starting between you two."

I don't know. I don't know anything about anything right now. My swollen feet hurt, my head is throbbing, and I'm tired of crying. I just want everything to end, and I'm not even sure what that would mean.

I stay silent.

"It's okay, Fifi. I think you should face your parents sooner than later. I'll drive you. Let's go."

She stands, walking to her bedroom. In a few minutes, she's changed into black sweatpants, a white crop top, and black sneakers. The keys dangle in her hands, clanking as she walks to me.

"C'mon."

She places her hand beneath my armpit and lifts me until I'm on my feet. Next, she wipes a tear from my eye and puts stray strands of hair in place.

Staring into my eyes, she exhales. "You ready?"

"No. They'll kill me."

"You know they won't. Granted, they're mad. But they're also in shock. All you have to do is explain everything to them, and they'll understand."

"You think they will?"

"They'll be mad at first, but they'll understand and accept it. They're your parents, Fifi."

I draw in the air and nod.

"Let's go. I'm going to leave your bags here. I'll bring them over to your house once you let me know that the coast is clear."

We step out of the house, and she locks the door. Turning to me, she fixes her eyes on my tummy. "Stairs or elevator?"

I offer a tight smile. I'm tempted to choose the elevator, but Jackie's voice rings in my head:"if you ever have to choose between the stairs or an elevator, choose the stairs."

"Stairs."

"Shocker."

Eleanor rolls her eyes as we make for the elevator. We climb in, and she hits thedescendbutton.

In no time, we're downstairs. There's a small car park to the side of the apartment, and as we walk to it, I take in the size of the apartment complex. It's slightly smaller than ours.

"Fiona!" she calls. "Come on!"

Startled, I walk to her white Toyota Matrix and step in.

The drive to my parent's house is short and quiet. Occasionally, I twiddle with my fingers and chew them. The anxiety in my chest settles like an unbearable weight making breathing laborious.

The city is vibrant as everyone hurries home. A few teenagers gather at the corner of a building, smoking pot amidst loud horns and crowded pavements.

My stomach knots when we get to my street, and my lungs all but cease to function. The wheezing sounds get louder as I struggle to breathe in, fighting for air. My head swirls, and I shut my eyes.

"Fiona. Fiona. It's okay."

She stops the car a few blocks from my parent's apartment and grabs my hand.

The tears are pouring again, and there's nothing I can do to stop it.

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