When I got to the top of the stairs, the door was open. I entered and closed the door behind me, locking it.
Jo mumbled something about “locking my door.” She stopped on the other side of the counter.
“You didn’t ask who it was?” The accusation was clear as day in my tone.
“Why? I knew it was you.” Jo sighed, swiping her hand over her face as if brushing away invisible cobwebs, and her expression softened into a polite smile. “Would you like to sit? Something to drink?”
“No.” I shook my head, my hand instinctively reaching for the brim of my hat, only to find it missing. The realization hit me like a jolt—I’d left it in my truck, something I never did. But then again, I’d never imagined I’d be standing here, grappling with the possibility of fatherhood.
It wasn’t confirmed yet, but deep down, I already knew.
“Then come in and have a seat. I imagine you have questions.” She grabbed her glass of water and headed to her sofa.
I worked my boots off and joined her in her living room, sitting across from her. She looked tired. For the first time, I doubted whether this was the best time to confront her. But I was already there.
“Are you pregnant, Jo?” I blurted out. No more beating around the bush. I needed answers, and I needed them now.
Jo’s expression was unreadable, and I braced myself for whatever answer she was about to give.
“Yes.” She stood, then tucked a leg beneath her as she sat back down.
“How long have you known?” My voice was steady, but inside, a storm was brewing with a mix of frustration and disappointment I couldn't fully hide.
Something I didn’t recognize flickered in her eyes before she narrowed them slightly at me.
“A week.” She pulled a pillow onto her lap, clinging to it.
I couldn’t believe she’d kept it from me for so long. A week felt like an eternity, and the betrayal stung. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but the anger was building, threatening to spill over.
I clenched my fists, struggling to maintain my composure and not let my voice rise. The urge to shout was overwhelming, but I knew that wouldn’t solve anything. Instead, I focused on keeping my words calm, even as my mind raced with accusations and questions. “And when were you going to tell me?”
Jo didn’t answer; she just stared at me, her nostrils flaring slightly. I waited for her to explain herself, but the silence stretched on. The tension in the room grew heavier with each passing second. I couldn’t help but wonder if her hesitation was a sign of guilt or simply uncertainty about how to proceed.
Guilt could only mean one thing. “Were you going to tell me?”
“Well, of course I was.” She shrugged.
Shrugged!Like she was dismissing me.
“Just not yet. This pregnancy is very unexpected, so excuse me for needing time to process this.” Her voice trailedoff.
“You aren’t the only one needing to process things, Jo.” My tone was sharp. I could no longer hide my anger.
She looked down, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears as her fingers dug into the soft fabric of the pillow.
It felt like I was missing something. Jo was a logical person. Maybe there was another reason she hadn’t told me. Why hadn’t it occurred to me before? I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to the story. Jo’s hesitation and her evasive answers, made me question everything. Was I overthinking it, or was there a truth she was hiding from me?
“Is it mine?” I blurted out the question, which slipped past my lips before I could stop it.
She sat up straighter, her shoulders rigid, and her voice dropped to a low, sharp tone. “You know what?” she muttered, her words dripping with bitterness. I’d never seen her like this before—angry, almost seething—and I realised this was the side of Jo I’d only heard about but never witnessed.
Well, I wasn’t too happy myself.
“What?” I snapped.
She drummed her fingers on the pillow as if she were counting. The seam of her lips were tight, her eyes squeezed shut. Then they flew open, shooting daggers. “Yes, Ryan. Are we finished?”
“Not by a long shot.”
