Fourteen
Libby
I knew Graham was back in town, but he kept telling me he was busy with things. Work, or meetings, or he was simply tired. He had never been tired. Work had never tired him out so much that he didn’t want to spend time with me. And it only served to worry me more about this situation. I had booked an appointment at the free clinic in town to make sure the pregnancy tests were right, and I came away with prenatal vitamins, a booklet on what to expect, and a roll of glossy black and white pictures.
It was official.
I really was pregnant.
I kept trying to get Graham out to dinner, so we could talk, but he kept dodging me. My calls went unanswered and my conversational text messages were met with one-word answers. I couldn’t figure out what in the world had happened. I knew he couldn’t know. It wasn’t possible for him to know I was pregnant. But he was avoiding me for a reason and I wanted to know why. I wanted to know why, at the moment I needed him most, he was nowhere to be found.
But all I had was his stupid dating profile and his phone number.
I knew I could ask Logan for help, but I was so embarrassed. I didn’t know how to tell my favorite cousin I was pregnant. And oh yeah, the dad? His groomsman.
The only thing I could do was try to go to his work, but I was swamped with my own. And even if I showed up at his workplace, there was no guarantee that he would see me. For all I knew, he would have me escorted off the premises by security and want nothing more to do with me.
I was stuck.
Another week rolled by before an opportunity presented itself. According to the doctor’s office, I was nine weeks into my pregnancy. And the nausea was bad. Really bad. Worse than I’d ever experienced in my life. There were some days where the only thing I could keep down was fluids, and I was dropping a drastic amount of weight quickly. The doctor at the clinic advised me to keep an eye on things. If I started vomiting blood or throwing up in my sleep, I needed to get to a hospital.
But I couldn’t afford a hospital bill. I’d never be able to pay the damn thing off. Not without Graham’s help.
It was Saturday morning and the small cafe across town was bustling with life. They had this soothing decaffeinated tea made especially for women who were going through pregnancy issues. It was supposed to help with the nausea enough to help me eat something, and it did. Every chance I could get, I would drive the thirty minutes from my apartment to this place, drink two cups of their tea, and have a small bowl of fruit. Holding down that fruit was the highlight of every single day, and there were moments when I cried into my tea simply because of how relieved I was to eat something.
Then, I heard it.
I heard his voice.
“A large coffee with a shot of espresso and one of those cinnamon rolls, please.”
I looked up from my book and stared at him. There he was, in all his splendor, with his strong shoulders and his tailored suit and his large hands that had picked me up as if I was nothing. My eyes raked down his form, studying the whole of him and taking him in. I had missed him, more than I was willing to admit to myself. But he was clearly lying to me. He was clearly not very busy. This cafe was an easy twenty minutes from his work, and I felt hot tears of anger rising to my eyes. I finished off the fruit as I watched him, silently begging him to turn and see me. To lock his eyes with mine and explain to me why the hell he was dodging me so badly.
But instead, he grabbed his things and headed out the door.
I chugged the rest of my tea, grabbed my book, and left. I walked out and saw him get into a car, then I rushed to mine and began to follow him. I pulled out behind him in traffic, not really knowing what the hell I was doing. But I followed him turn for turn, trying to stay as inconspicuous as possible.
And my heart thundered in my ears when the car he was in turned and headed further out of the city.
I followed it, trying to stay a few cars back. I was crazy. I knew I was. There was a battle raging in my mind, telling me to go home. That I had options. That if Graham wanted to see me, he would. He could. But my rolling nausea and the bags pulling at my eyes reminded me of the secret my body was harboring. The secret my body was growing. He had a right to know what was going on, but more than that… I had a right to look him in the eye and ask him what in the world was going on with him.
He had a right to know I was pregnant, but I had a right to choose how to tell him.
The car pulled into a driveway that sank back into the trees. I passed the driveway and slowed down, trying to see through the thick foliage. I kept traveling down the road and went to turn around, whipping a U-turn in the middle of the road. And when I did, the most spectacular sight came into view.
A beautiful house on top of a luscious, green hill.
I had to pull over and gawk. It was so grand and so beautiful that it brought tears to my eyes. I cursed my pregnancy hormones for making me so emotional, but it was gorgeous. The sun was shining down onto the house as if the house itself was a beacon of safety. A haven for those who were hurting and lonely to come and seek rest within its walls. I felt a peace drape over me as I pulled from the side of the road, then I turned up the driveway and started for the house.
This was it.
This was Graham’s home.
I parked my car as my hands began to sweat. My nerves were getting the best of me and everything was telling me to turn and run. But I couldn’t. I had to stand strong. I was going to be a mother and being strong was required of me. Strength was something I had to grow into because abortion wasn’t an option for me and mothers needed to be strong for their children. So I drew in a deep breath, grabbed my purse, then headed for the front door.
I didn’t see the car anywhere, and for a moment I questioned myself. Did the driveway lead somewhere else? Had I been mistaken in where the car had turned into? Maybe there was another driveway I missed? I walked up the decadent porch and stood in front of the massive double doors. I reached for the knocker and slammed it against the door, listening as the sound echoed out into the home.
I could only imagine the expanse of the house inside.
I heard footsteps approaching the door before it ripped itself open. I was face to face with the man who had been dodging me ever since he got home. And now, I was no longer convinced he had been on a business trip in the first place. Maybe the business trip was his way of avoiding me in the first place. Maybe he had been in town all this time and that was his excuse to not see me.
Had he found someone else? Was this thing between us over? Either way, it didn’t change why I was here.
I lost myself in his piercing eyes before a sound caught my ear.
“Daddy? Who’s that?”
My eyes fell to the floor as a small body pushed beside him. There was a little girl, no more than five, probably, with bouncing black curls and piercing blue eyes. I looked up at Graham as his face fell, then the sound of spit bubbles caught my ear. I crouched down a bit and saw more children come into view. Two identical toddler boys, to be exact.
Children.
That was what Graham had been hiding. What he had been withholding from me all of these weeks.
The man had a fucking family.
I looked back up into Graham’s eyes as tears crested mine. He was a fake. A phony. A good for nothing liar. The woman in the restaurant had been right about him. Everything she yelled at him that night had been true. He was low. The lowest of the low. He probably had a wife in there, waiting on his every beck and call while he dropped his standards for some poor old woman like myself.
The side woman.
I was nothing more than the side woman.
“Libby? What are you doing here?” Graham asked.
His question hit me like a ton of bricks. My vision began to blur with my tears as I stumbled back onto the porch. I tripped going down the stairs as my legs carried me as quickly as they could, and I could hear the little girl calling out after me. The rug had been ripped out from underneath me. The hope I felt seeing him in that cafe had been decimated by the bomb that had just dropped. I ripped open my car as Graham yelled my name, calling to me from his porch while his kids surrounded his legs.
Kids.
He had multiple kids already.
This was a huge mistake. Coming here had been a huge mistake. Sleeping with him had been a mistake and dating him had been an even bigger mistake. How in the hell had I convinced myself that a man like him could’ve ever settled for a woman like me? I had no prospects. No money. I had no home to invite him into that I could be proud of our accomplishments with my life I could talk to him about. I had nothing while he had everything. A beautiful home. A company he ran. An accomplished career and a family to love. He was everything and I was nothing… and those two things never mixed.
Ever.
“Libby! Stop!”
I raced down the driveway and left Graham in my rearview mirror. I was never coming back. I had no idea what I was going to do with this child, but I knew what I was going to do immediately.
I was going to go home, delete that dating profile, block Graham’s number, and move on.
Because it was all I could. I had no other choice.
Graham Alexander had left me with no other choices.
I raced back into town as I tried choking back the vomit rising up my throat. I couldn’t do this. Not now. I weaved in and out of traffic, trying to keep my nerves at bay as my hands shook. I was white-knuckling the steering wheel and trying to speed as much as I could without getting caught. My head was pounding, and my stomach was sick with fury. I wanted to get into a long, hot shower and wash all of this shit off my skin. I could smell him. I could still feel his lips on my neck. I could feel how his hands gripped my hips and how his muscles molded perfectly to my body.
I had to wash him from my skin if I was ever going to move forward.
I skidded into a parking space and slammed out of my car. The bile was creeping up my throat as I ran up the steps to my apartment. I threw my door open, not bothering to close it as I dashed for my bathroom. Then I fell to my knees and started spewing up everything from the cafe.
I gripped the toilet as my stomach contracted. Was this what dying felt like? Because it felt like I was slowly wasting away. My throat burned and my eyes were dripping with tears. I was trying to cry and heave at the same time and I kept choking myself. I coughed and spit. My body was rebelling against every decision I had just made. My hands fell to my sides as I rested my cheek against the cold seat of the toilet, my chest panting for air.
I felt disgusting.
Useless.
Alone.
I felt my eyes fluttering closed. My body was sinking to the linoleum floor of my bathroom as the darkness started to drape over me. It had been almost a month since I’d gotten a decent amount of sleep. If it wasn’t the raging headache or the stress from work, it was the nausea. And it was finally catching up to my body. I slowly slid from the toilet seat and dropped to the floor, propping my cheek against my arm and allowing my eyes to close.
But before my body was able to drift off to sleep, I heard the toilet flush.
Then I felt a pair of arms wrapping around my body.
Then I heard that voice again. That husky, ethereal voice that never ceased to make my skin crawl.
“On the count of three, I’m going to lift you, okay? One… two… three.”
Then… I was floating.
Just like I always did when I was in his arms.