I sleep so deeply for the rest of Sunday morning that I'm totally disoriented when I wake up around noon. What day is it? Am I supposed to be at work?

The memory of Matthew leaving earlier comes back to me in pieces as I try to figure out where I am.

His apartment. Sunday. Noon.

There's a text on my phone from Robin inviting me to watch TV with her if I'm not “busy.” Lots of winking emojis involved. 

I'll take her up on it.

She's having a good enough day to enjoy a few shows, and we order takeout Chinese and laugh the afternoon away. I feel good, but a little groggy, which is why I don't notice that Matthew hasn't called or texted until almost ten at night.

That's weird.

He usually stops by the apartment or at least sends a quick message when he gets back from a meeting. When he gets back from anywhere, really. 

I send him a quick text.

Is everything okay? How did your meeting go? 

I can't think of any reason why he wouldn't have texted, but a sharp spike of worry envelopes my chest. What if something happened to him and nobody thought to call me? It's not like I'm listed as his emergency contact—at least, I don't think I am. I should ask him about that, too.

It takes him a full five minutes to respond.

The words that pop up on the screen fill the pit of my gut with dread.

I think you should come up to talk, if you're not too tired.

* * *

I summon all my courage and raise my hand to knock on Matthew's door. I don't want to do this. My stomach is turning, again and again, and my mouth is dry with anxiety. 

Matthew pulls the door open, and the instant I see his face, I know it's bad. 

Very bad.

I step inside his apartment and he closes the door behind me. My body starts to react—normally, when there's a closed door between us and the world, I'm about to get several orgasms. Matthew is about to play my pussy like a violin, and I'm about to love the hell out of it.

Not this time.

“How do you know Peter Cunningham?”

I've barely moved inside the apartment, and it dawns on me that I might not ever go inside again. Matthew's face is set in a hard line. I feel like I'm falling, and not in a fun, pleasant way. I try to get a grip on the situation, but I can't. I can only answer the question.

“He's my ex-boyfriend.” The words feel ugly in my mouth. I don't want to be saying them, but I have to.

“I had an interesting meeting with him today.”

I feel like screaming. Peter managed to meet with a representative from every single one of the media outlets I tried to get a job at, and it was all to punish me for something he thought I did. 

“You should know that things didn't end well between us.”

Matthew narrows his eyes. I can tell he's trying hard not to leap to judgement, but Peter is a believable guy. If he wasn't, I'd have a job by now, and not just as Matthew's secretary. 

“I gathered that. But it seemed to me—” Matthew crosses his arms over his chest. “It seemed to me that what happened was outside of your breakup.”

My throat goes tight. “What did he tell you?”

His jaw tightens. “That you've pulled this scam before.”

“What scam?” I'm on the defensive, my cheeks burning, and I don't know why the word scam has hit me so hard, but it has.

“The scam where you use a pregnancy—or fake pregnancy—to get something from a man.” Matthew looks disgusted. He's not able to hide it anymore. “I don't think I have to tell you what happened between you and Peter. You should know that already.”

“That's not what happened.”

“What did happen?” Matthew's face becomes darker by the second. “God, Skye...the shit he said was pretty spot-on. Did you offer to have his baby? Did you offer to have his baby in exchange for a passing grade in college?”

“No!” 

“Then why was he under the impression that you did?”

“Because—” I could cry. I could absolutely cry. “I didn't have a fake pregnancy. I got pregnant. But it wasn't because I wanted to have his baby. I just wanted to—” I shake my head. It's impossible to explain it now. Peter Cunningham was the TA for the final class of my college career, a capstone class that ended in an investigative report that I had to file in order to graduate. When a source took it upon himself to kiss me, Peter pounced. He was somehow in the right place at the right time to see me, and he accused me of sleeping my way to a better story. 

I was terrified. I needed the course to graduate, and so when he pressured me into sleeping with him, I did...

“I just wanted to graduate from college. With Robin the way she is—”

“Don't use her as an excuse.”

“I'm not, but Matthew, I was desperate. I needed to get a job, and it was the only way he would pass the class. He had a lot of sway over the professor, and I couldn't take the chance.”

His hands tighten into fists. “So what happened?” He's practically beside himself. “Is there some other child out there because of another deal that you made?”

“No,” I say, my heart breaking into a thousand pieces. “No. I lost the pregnancy. Early on. It simply wasn’t a viable pregnancy.”