Seven years ago

California

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ME: GRAYSON, WE NEED to talk.

ME: Grayson, it’s an emergency...

ME: Grayson, I’ve called you thirty times this week. Surely you can answer ONE call...

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I SET MY PHONE DOWN and picked up the pregnancy test, staring at the two blue lines. This was my tenth test this week and the result was the same as all the others. Suddenly, my plans for getting through Stanford seemed insignificant, and I was thinking about moving to New York so Grayson could help me raise our child.

Unsure of what to do next, I didn't tell any of my friends or family. I wanted Grayson to know first, and I wanted him to be with me, even if it was just for a day.

I continued calling his phones—his old line, his new business line, his new personal line. He never answered, never returned a call. I sent him an email and carbon-copied his agent on it hoping for better results.

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SUBJECT: URGENT: PLEASE open and answer.

Grayson,

I’m pregnant.

Charlotte.

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STILL NO RESPONSE.

After three days passed, I began looking up flights to New York, but I received a “We’re on our way. Be at your place in an hour” text from Anna and felt a slight tinge of relief. I rushed home to make sure I’d be there when they arrived, but when they arrived, it wasn’t “they” at all. Only Anna.

“So, you’re pregnant?” she asked, barging into my living room.

I nodded. “Is Grayson with you?”

“No.” She tossed her bag onto my couch. “No, he is not with me, but he sent me to see you once he got your message.”

“Okay...So, is he coming tomorrow or another day?”

“He's not coming at all." She looked sympathetic and tapped a few things on her phone. "He's trying to move on and focus on his career, but he promised that he’ll fix this as long as you can prove that it's his. So, how much do you want for it?”

“It?”

“Yes. ‘It’ as in the albatross that’s currently growing inside your stomach. 'It' as in the anchor that you're hoping to tie around his neck in hopes of getting him to come back to you, even though it’ll probably never happen. Just say the amount and he promises to pay it.”

My heart dropped. “That’s what he said?”

“No, what he said was far crueler, but I would never repeat that.” She shrugged.

I stared at her.

“The quicker you tell me, the better. Of course, if you’re going to seek child support, you'll need to keep the lovechild a secret. Don't think about writing any books or going on any speaking tours."

“You can leave now, Anna.”

"A few last things," she said. "Grayson wants to make sure that you're not taking advantage of him and his future earnings, so you'll need to send me the ultrasound picture to confirm that you are pregnant. You'll also need to agree to go to a DNA lab of his choosing to make sure that the child is his and not someone else's." She picked up her purse and headed to the door. “So, just to recap, I’ll draw up the paperwork whenever there’s proof of your—” She glanced at my stomach and rolled her eyes. “Pregnancy. Unless of course—”

I slammed the door in her face.

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I SCHEDULED A SUPER late appointment for an ultrasound on the same day as the NFL draft, hoping that I would be able to escape any and all news about Grayson, but my logic failed because a group of patients was watching it on the waiting room TV.

I forced myself to look on as the New York representative took to the podium.

“With our first round, first choice pick...” he said. “New York selects University of Pittsburgh quarterback, Grayson Connors!” The crowd cheered loudly and the camera panned to Grayson standing up from the table. He smiled at the cameras, and my heart skipped a beat as he walked to the stage to receive his New York hat and jersey.

Even though I was angry at him, I was happy he was number one. I pulled out my phone to text him a last-ditch Congratulations, but I dropped it to the ground when I saw a supermodel—Elizabeth Thieles, kissing him.

What the hell? I watched to see if he would kiss her back, and he did. Then he gave her a hug and walked off stage, shattering any faith I had of us getting back together. He’d changed just like he said he wouldn’t, and I was going to have to accept that.

“Miss Taylor?” Someone called my name.

“Yes?”

“You can come to the back now.”

I followed her into a small room and undressed, simply going through the motions while my heart continued to break inside of my chest.

I lay back on the table and shut my eyes as the nurse spread a cool gel across my stomach.

“Just keep still, Miss Taylor,” she said softly. “Based on what you wrote on the form, you’re probably about eight weeks, but we’ll verify that in just a second. We’ll also have to prescribe vitamins and get you assigned to a personal doctor near Stanford. But for now, let's just get to my favorite part. Are you feeling okay?"

I didn’t answer. I’d never felt so hurt in my life.

“Okay...” The nurse was still trying to talk to me. “I’m turning on the screen and I’m using this wand that I’m pressing against you...” She moved the wand against my stomach. “This is so we can get a shot of the growing baby—i.e., little Charlotte, and the heartbeat. Feel free to look whenever you’re ready.”

I opened my eyes and looked at her, forcing myself to smile. Then I looked at the screen.

“Where is it?” I asked.

“Well, the embryo is here.” She pointed at a gray blip on the screen. She zoomed in on the image a few times, but she didn’t say anything else.

“How far along am I?” I asked.

“You were eight weeks.”  She looked at me with sympathy in her eyes.

“Were?”

“There’s no fetal heartbeat, Miss Taylor.” She squeezed my hand. “At this point, in a viable pregnancy, we would see that on the screen. However, we’re going to run tests to see why this pregnancy is no longer viable, and you’ll have what you need to know in the future.” Her words chilled my skin. “You can choose to wait for your body to naturally miscarry or we can schedule a D&C procedure.”

“An abortion?”

“It’s not an abortion,” she said, softening her voice. “It’s a standard dilation and curettage procedure we use for women who have a miscarriage. It enables us to clear your uterine lining, but it’s not required. It’s just an option.”

My mind was still spinning, still processing the words “no fetal heartbeat.”

“Miss Taylor,” she said softly. “Are you aware of what I’m saying to you?”

“I don’t have a baby anymore.” I couldn’t look at her. “Is that correct?”

“That is correct.” She squeezed my hand again. “I’m very sorry, Miss Taylor. I’m going to grab my lead doctor and psychiatrist so we can run some tests and make sure you're stabilized, okay?”

I didn’t say anything. I lay there numb and in shock, unable to feel anything but heartache and tears falling down my face.

Going against my better judgment, I pulled out my phone and called Grayson again. It rang three times and in the middle of the fourth, there was a brief gap and a beep, the tell-tale sign of him hitting ignore.

“This is Grayson,” his voicemail said. “You've reached my private line, so that means I know you personally. Leave a message and I promise to get back to you."

I didn’t bother. I hung up and sent an email instead.

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SUBJECT: THANK YOU + Best of luck

Grayson,

I want you to know that you are EXACTLY who I thought you were when we first met, and that you’ve taught me to trust my first instincts for the rest of my life.

I promise I’ll never call/reach out to you again.

I hate you,

Charlotte

A response came back within seconds.

Subject: Re: Thank you + Best of luck

This message has been blocked from the intended recipient as the delivering address is flagged and on the spam list.