Page 85 of Unravel Me

“Dada,” Connor whispers, beautiful eyes searching mine as he points at the door. “Bear.”

I press my lips to his tiny pout and pull him into my arms, hugging him tight. “We can see them tomorrow,” I murmur against his ear, savoring the way his little warm body melts into mine. I manage one more squeeze before Brandon pulls him away, leading him into the living room.

“Hi,” Connor says to the three men lounging on the couch. He points to the Batman logo on his T-shirt. “Ba-man?”

Three gazes flick to his before moving back to the baseball game on TV, and my heart sinks.

Connor roots through a small basket of toys, pulling out a plastic cow. He displays it proudly, grinning widely. “Cow.Moo-moo!”

“They don’t wanna play,” Brandon tells him flatly.

Connor places his hand on his dad’s knee, holding his cow out to him. “Ee-ya, ee-ya, bo?”

“I don’t know what you’re saying.”

“E-I-E-I-O,” I clarify gently, remembering the patience Adam showed him, the way he worked so hard to figure out what Connor wanted, how he sang and danced with him all through his living room. “He wants you to sing ‘Old MacDonald’ with him.”

“No thanks.”

Connor’s face falls at the same rate my heart hits the floor.

Brandon picks him up and sets him down in the playpen in the corner of the room, emptying the basket of toys in there. “Here. Play in here.”

“Okay, well…” I swallow, wringing my hands. “Call me if you need me. Bye, baby. Bye, guys.”

While I’m waiting for the elevator in the hall, I root through my bag for my phone so I can tell Adam I’m heading to school. My hand brushes something furry, and I groan when I pull out Connor’s stuffed kitty. He’ll nap without his kitty, but he will not—no matter what—go to bed for the night without it.

I head back to Brandon’s, pushing the door open.

“She’s so fuckin’ weird,” someone says, and my feet stop.

“You’re telling me,” I hear Brandon mutter.

“A little overbearing, no?”

“Controlling as hell is what she is. Drives me up the fucking wall.”

Quiet laughter rings out as my chest heaves, my head dipping down. My hand trembles on the doorknob, the other one gripping the stuffed toy so tight.

“Can’t believe you had a kid with her.”

The words hurt, but not nearly as much as Brandon’s response.

“You think I chose this? Choseher? She wasn’t supposed to be anything more than a casual fuck for a few weeks of summer fun. You know her parents died when she was a kid and nobody ever adopted her. Sometimes I think she poked a hole in the condom or something, just to get the family she wanted. Now I’m stuck with her forever. You think that’s what I want?”

My fingers dig into the stuffed animal, and I try to ground myself in the moment. Feel the softness of its fur, listen to the whir of the air conditioner, inhale the scent of the food spread out on the counters.

But it doesn’t work.

Instead, I hear the words in my head, again and again, like they’re etching themselves there for me to replay at my darkest moments.

You think I chose this? Chose her?

Nobody adopted her.

Now I’m stuck with her.

The words are sharp and vicious, a knife plunged deep and twisted so forcefully. The stuffie falls to the ground as my hand moves to catch the quiver of my chin, to stifle the wounded whimper dripping from my lips. I take a step back, and then another, watching the door slam in my face when I let it go.

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