“What am I going to do?” I say, sitting on my busted up hard wood floor.

“I don’t know,” says Janet, sitting on the sofa, looking about as concerned as I am.

“Isn’t this where you tell me it was going to happen? Isn’t this where you tell me that you were right all along and that I should have been more honest with him?”

“I don’t really feel like it,” says Janet. “You’re in enough trouble as it is.”

“I know,” I say, my voice sounding faint. “He’s not answering his phone.”

“He’s probably upset,” says Janet.

“Don’t you think I know that?” I say, snapping at her angrily.

“There’s no need to get upset with me,” says Janet. “I’m not the one who did this.”

“There you go. Now it starts. Come on, tell me what an idiot I’ve been.”

But to my surprise, Janet doesn’t do anything like that. Instead, she comes and sits on the floor with me and puts her arm around me.

“It’s going to be OK,” she says, her voice sounding surprisingly soothing for Janet’s voice. Normally it’s as shrill as my mother’s.

Oh God. My mother… I’d completely forgotten about her. It’s much easier to do now that I live on my own.

“I’ve got to call my mom,” I say. “She’s going to be freaking out.”

But just as I reach for my phone, the phone starts to ring. It’s my mother.

“Hi, mom,” I say, making an effort to keep my voice normal.

“You didn’t want to tell me you were pregnant? How long has this been going on?” She’s not yelling and her voice isn’t even shrill but from many, many years of experience I know that this means she’s actually truly angry right now.

“I…” I start to say, but my mom cuts me off and launches into another tirade.

“How could you?” she says. “How could you do it? Were you going to keep your grandchildren hidden from me too? Have you been pregnant since that day when you were stuck in the bathroom, talking on the phone with someone?”

“Yeah,” I say.

“OK,” says my mom. “That makes sense that you’re showing then.”

“Since when do you know so much about pregnancies?”

“Well I had you, didn’t I?”

For some reason, this makes me laugh. I don’t know if it’s tension breaking, since the problems are all still here, and the tension’s still here, but I laugh and laugh. Janet looks at me like I’m crazy.

“Feel better?” says my mom, her voice sounding more normal and more shrill. That’s actually a good sign.

“A little,” I admit. “I would have told you, mom, but I was scared of what you’d say. I didn’t even tell the father.”

“And he’s this billionaire you’ve been going out with?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I know some of the tabloids are saying it’s his kid and some are saying it’s someone else’s but I haven’t been with anyone else in a long time, well before John.”

“And you were worried that if he found out he’d freak out and you’d ruin the relationship?”

“Yeah,” I say, surprised that my mom is being so understanding. “I didn’t want to start the relationship off on the wrong foot so to speak and then the days just went on and on and soon they slipped into months.”

“Have you talked to him about it yet?”

“Not really,” I say. “He’s not picking up the phone.”

“He’s probably just going through a bit of shock,” says my mom. “It’s a lot to digest from his point of view. I’m sure you two will work it out. I’ve seen the way you two look at each other.”

“Where have you seen that?”

“In the tabloids of course,” says my mom.

“I knew you followed the tabloids,” I say. “But I didn’t realize you followed me so closely in them.”

“Well of course I do,” says my mom. “You’re my daughter after all.”

With Janet sitting there and with John probably furious with me, I end up having one of the best conversations with my mom that I’ve ever had. I guess it took a tabloid crisis situation for her to act understanding towards me. Oh well, if that’s what it takes then that’s what it takes.

When I get off the phone, I tell Janet that I’ve got to talk to John.

“You’re going over to his place?” she says.

I shrug. “I don’t know what else to do. I’ve got to talk to him. I’ve got to make him understand somehow. First of all, I realize he doesn’t even know if it’s his baby or not. That might make him upset—if he thought I was running around with other guys and then keeping their babies secret from him.

“I’m coming with you,” says Janet.

I shake my head. “I’d better go alone,” I say.

“I’ll keep my phone by if you need me,” she says.

I still don’t have a car, and I wouldn’t want one in this city, so I take the train over to Manhattan and walk from the station over to John’s apartment building. I doubt he’d be at work.

It’s kind of interesting to me, if I can step back from the mild crisis situation—I feel strangely calm.

I doubt John’s feeling like that though. After all, I have the feeling that everything is going to work out in the end. But that’s because I know the truth about the baby. John, however, has no idea what’s going on. My heart reels for him momentarily. He must feel completely terrible. He must feel like I betrayed him.

I’ve never just gone into his building before without calling him. He’s always just suggested I call him and he’d meet me at the front lobby by the elevator.

So I try calling him again but of course he doesn’t pick up.

OK, I said I was strangely calm, but I’m starting to panic. After all, I remember, he hasn’t answered his phone all day. How many hours has it been now? I glance at my cell phone’s clock and I’m not sure.

I take a deep breath and walk into the building, realizing that I have no idea how this super fancy super high tech building works. All I know is that John has some kind of keyless entry device that opens up the elevator doors for him. He has one of those penthouses where the elevator door opens right up into his apartment without any extra doors. Of course, for a place like that, the security has to be extremely high.

“Can I help you, miss?” says the decidedly human doorman. And I was half expecting a robot doorman, but I don’t know why, since I’ve seen this particular doorman at least twenty or thirty times since I started seeing John.

“I’m trying to see John,” I say, and I explain that I’m worried about him and that he’s not answering my phone calls.

“John who?” says the man, his eyes not giving a hint of acknowledgement that he even recognizes me.

“John Clark,” I say.

“I see,” says the man. “And how do you know that Mr. Clark lives here?”

“Come on,” I say. “Don’t pull this crap with me. I’ve seen you a couple dozen times. And each time I’ve been with John. Can’t you just let me up to his apartment? I’m really worried about him.”

“I’m sure Mr. Clark will appreciate your concern,” says the doorman. “But I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

I walk away in a huff. I send John a text message with a ton of exclamation marks that says, “Are you OK? Doorman is being an asshole. Come down and let me in. Just let me know you’re OK!!!”

Of course, no response from the text message.

But now I’m worried for a slightly different reason. The way that doorman acted, it was almost as if he has special instructions not to let me up and to ignore me. That’s the way people act in positions like that when they’ve been told something, isn’t it?

Does that mean John’s just going to cut me off and stop seeing me? I go into a mild panic, and have to sit down against the building outside. The wind is cold and blowing fast and freely. I pull my knees up to my chest and sit there on the cold concrete sidewalk shivering like I’ve never shivered before.

I feel my slightly bulging belly against my legs and suddenly I begin to really freak out.

Is this the end of my relationship with John? Why isn’t he contacting me?

Why was I such an idiot? Why didn’t I tell him? Maybe this entire thing would have gone completely differently if I’d just told him right from the beginning that I was pregnant from that first night. I can’t believe it! I can’t believe I thought it was OK to do what I’ve done.

“Are you OK, lady?” says an old man who’s walking by. He’s dressed to the nines and holds a fancy looking poodle by a long leash.

I shake my head and now I’m sobbing. I can’t even get the words out.

“It’ going to be OK,” says the old man, squatting down to get a better look at me. He puts a comforting hand on my arm.

His dog comes over and starts licking my face. At any other time it would make me giggle but right now it just has the effect of making me feel a little better.

“Thanks for stopping,” I say. “I’m not having the best day of my life right now.”

“We all have moments like that,” says the man. “What’s your name, young lady?”

“Sarah,” I say, choking through the tears.

“Oh,” says the old man, recoiling and removing his arm from me. “You’re that Sarah I saw in the papers. You’ve been cheating on John Clark! I’ll have you know he employs my son and he’s a good man!”

I start sobbing again as the man commands his poodle to leave me. He has to take the dog by the leash and drag it away. The old man turns once as he walks away and scowls at me.

I start sobbing again. Who wouldn’t? This is really too much.

Now people are sure that I am having someone else’s baby, and they’re going to start stopping me in the street and chastising me for something I didn’t even do?

I try calling John once more and it goes straight to voicemail. “Listen, John,” I say, trying to speak clearly despite my tears. “I didn’t sleep with anyone else. That’s the truth. The baby is yours. It was conceived that first night we were together, back in the Hamptons where we met. I didn’t want to tell you because things were going so great. And I kept meaning to tell you. Oh, I’m so sorry John. This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done in my whole life. It’s the most horrible thing I’ve ever done in my whole life too, and I can’t believe I’ve done it to you the person I care the most about in the whole world.” As soon as I say it, I know it’s true. John is the person I care the most about. I don’t care that he’s a billionaire. But I care about him and I want him to be mine. If he was here right now I’d propose to him, even though I’ve always been a traditionalist in that respect. Men should propose to women, except in extreme circumstances. But, hey, that’s just my opinion. What do I know?

The wind is cold but I start walking home. The light in the sky is fading. The city scape has never looked so sinister to me.

Walking on my own sure isn’t as easy as being driven by John in one of his luxury cars. But that’s not what’s hurting right now. No, it’s not the pain in my feet, but the pain in my heart, where it feels like John tore out a piece of my beating heart. But, in reality, it was me who did it. It’s all my fault and I can’t blame John for how he’s reacting.

I get home and start cleaning the apartment. In a way, I guess I’m trying to absolve my sins through cleanliness. I don’t think it’s ever worked for anyone before and it’s certainly not working for me now, but at least it’s giving me something to do.

I fall asleep on the couch, one hand on the broom and the other on the small vacuum cleaner.

I wake up early in the morning, six o’clock, and immediately regret waking up. Coming from the land of dreams, now I have to face reality again. And it’s a reality I don’t want to face, where John doesn’t want to have anything to do with me and I hurt him in one of the worst ways I possibly could. It’s a world where only I am to blame. How could I blame John at all?

Grabbing my phone is the first thing I do, but there still isn’t any word from John. I send him another text, and then an email, in case there’s some problem with his phone (even though I don’t that’s not a possibility.)

I decide I’ve got to go to work after all, despite everything’s that’s happened, and I gather up my things.

The day is horrible. Still no word from John. This is the worst day ever. A horrible hazy depression hangs over me and I make a billion mistakes at work that I cant’ avoid at all.

“Are you OK, Sarah?” asks one of my coworkers, when I almost give a guy the wrong amount of money.

I shake my head. “I don’t think so,” I say.

“You poor girl,” she says. She starts telling me how she’s been in a similar situation and everything turned out all right.

“Thanks,” I say. “It’s really nice to have people to talk to.”

In the end, though, she just was talking to me because she needed to borrow money. She figured that since I was dating a billionaire and all, I’d have a couple extra dollars to throw out to a sympathetic coworker.

“Sorry,” I tell her. “I’m barely paying rent as it is and my billionaire boyfriend won’t call me back.”