“It’s okay, boy,” I whispered, though nothing felt okay.
My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. I could still feel Chrys’s intensity—first in passion, then in anger. The sensation of his touchlingered on my skin, making this sudden distance between us feel surreal. His accusations replayed in my head.
The worst part is, beneath my hurt, I wondered if he was right.
My phone chimed with a social media notification, not a text. Probably another wedding photo from a college acquaintance, or my cousin’s new baby. Something normal. Something from a world where relationships didn’t implode over pregnancy claims.
But it wasn’t.
A direct message from Katalina glared up at me. I tapped to open it. A black and white sonogram filled my screen.
The words on the picture displayed Katalina’s name and yesterday’s date. Pain spread through my body, settling like lead in my stomach.
Could Chrys have lied? After everything we’d been through?
I leaned my head back against the wall. Outside, the Grecian night was alive with chirping insects and the distant crash of waves, but inside this room, it felt like time had frozen.
“I’m sick of this bitch!” I whispered to no one.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I dialed Katalina’s number and hit call. The phone rang once, twice—
“Hello?”
“It’s Tia,” I said. “I gotyour sonogram.”
“Good,” she replied after a brief pause. “Then you understand the situation.”
“Actually, I don’t,” I countered. “A picture proves nothing. Anyone can get a sonogram image.”
“You think I’m lying?” she asked, her tone shifting from confident to indignant.
“I think you’d do whatever it takes to break Santo and I up,” I said bluntly. “So here’s my offer. I’ll walk away from Santo for good if you let me come with you to your next sonogram appointment. When the tech confirms you’re pregnant and the age of the fetus, I’ll leave. No drama, no fight.”
The silence that followed stretched so long I thought she might have hung up.
“Fine,” she finally said, her voice tight. “I have an appointment next week. Tuesday at two PM at the private clinic in the city. You can meet me there.”
Her immediate agreement caught me off guard. Either she was telling the truth, or she had another trick up her sleeve.
“How about we do it at a walk-in ultrasound clinic of my choosing, not your regular doctor?”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” I said. “Tomorrow morning. I’ll select a neutral clinic. If you’re really pregnant, you shouldn’t have any problem with that.”
The silence that followed was so charged I could almost feel the electricity through the phone.
“You have no right—” she began.
“I have every right,” I cut in. “If you want me gone, this is the only way it happens. Otherwise, we’ll fly to Copenhagen tonight for a quickie marriage and by tomorrow afternoon, I’ll flush my birth control.”
I heard her inhale. Finally, she spoke, her voice calm once more.
“Fine. Text me the details. But when the ultrasound confirms what I’ve told you, you leave Greece immediately.”
“Deal,” I replied simply, before ending the call.
What did I just do? I bet everything—him, us, my whole damn heart—on one appointment. If that sonogram showed what she claimed, I’d have to honor my word and leave.
