In a matter of days, Tucker and I were supposed to be unloading boxes into our new place, debating what color to paint the nursery since we decided not to find out our baby’s gender in advance of the birth.
We were supposed to be making a new home and life together as we waited out the final few weeks before we became a threesome and our lives changed for good.
Instead, I’m standing in my childhood bedroom, its four pink walls covered with adolescent posters, serving as a harsh reminder that my life has descended into a complete fucking disaster.
Austin was going to be the start of everything for me—a chance to pursue my dream career as a lawyer. A chance to prove to Mom and Dad that I wasn’t their shy little girl who needed to be sheltered. I could’ve stayed and studied in New York and lived at home, but that wasn’t enough for me. I wanted to move states, change time zones.
Instead, I’m right back where I was. And this time around, I need my parents more than ever.
Arms around my huge bump, I move toward my bedroomwindow and stare out into the yard of our brownstone house, the place Mom and Dad brought me home to when I was a newborn.
Being back in Brooklyn wasn’t what I wanted for our child, and not because my parents aren’t amazing people or I didn’t have the best childhood—because I did. I just wanted to show my baby the world and give it to them as well. That’s what Tucker told me when I broke the news that we were pregnant as we lay sprawled out on the couch one lazy night I stayed over at his place.
Maybe I was foolish to believe him when he promised that he’d stand by me and that the surprise pregnancy was as much his responsibility as it was my own. He talked about marriage and spending the rest of our lives together and how this baby was only the start of our family that we’d expand when we were both ready.
“Total bullshit,” I whisper to myself as the cold February air whips through the trees lining the bottom of the yard, the wooden swing Dad hung from an old oak tree crashing against its trunk.
When I met Tucker eighteen months ago, he was just entering into his junior year and me into my sophomore. For him, it was love at first sight—or so he told me the day he finally asked for my number at a house party he and his friends were hosting.
I should’ve known back then that he didn’t truly mean a word that left his mouth, and I guess I could be forgiven for falling under his spell. He was a year older than me, insanely hot with dark hair and big brown eyes, and the guy every girl on campus wanted to bag or bed, depending on who you asked.
I didn’t care that he came from money or that his parents owned a high-flying law practice, and I certainly didn’t see his family as a meal ticket to the career in criminal law I always wanted.
Regardless, that’s how they eventually treated me—like a freaking criminal. Convinced I was looking to ride on the coattails of their youngest son.
Fuck off.
I’d left Brooklyn with five-hundred dollars in mychecking account and student loan agreements that would likely take over a decade to repay, and do you know what? I was good with that. I was comfortable forging my own path in life because that was exactly what I dreamed of when my dad loaded the final box into the U-Haul van and we drove the twenty-six-hour drive to Austin.
Am I scared to have a baby with a guy that I’ve been dating for less than a year? Yes. Hell, I think I’d still be freaking out if I was in my mid-thirties and we had been married for ten years. But I trusted Tucker, I trusted his family and their promises, and I had no intention of going back on my own to him—that I would stick around in Texas and not return to New York, consequently taking his child with me.
Honestly? I can’t be sure where it all went wrong, but somewhere along the road—about the time when I started to show—Tucker’s attitude changed. He started going out more and more, claiming that he wanted to make the most of his freedom while he still had it. We got into fights over the craziest things, and eventually, we stopped having sex too. Or at least, I stopped having sex. Conversely, Tucker was getting it on with every girl who looked his way. Or that was what the rumors suggested.
At first, I brushed off the whispers around campus, chalking them up to mean girls who had tried and failed to bed one of the hottest boys in school. I was used to their gibes from the very beginning of our relationship. But then came the pictures and the videos of him dancing and grinding up against other girls. They were harder to deny or even ignore.
And finally, when I plucked up the courage to confront him right before I turned thirty-three weeks pregnant, my boyfriend proved just how bad of a liar he actually was.
I can still feel the humiliation as his pathetic denial ripped through me. I should’ve walked out on him there and then, and I would have done it if it hadn’t been for the baby. Instead, I stuck around for two weeks, trying to convince myself each night I climbed into his bed alone that he wasn’t out screwing other girls into the early hours.
If it wasn’t for Clara—the one friend I’d actually made in college—I think I’d still be lying in Tucker’s bed right now, blaming myself for his infidelity.
“You need to call your mom and dad and tell them everything, Billie. And then you need to leave Tucker Price and move back to Brooklyn. It’s time you started putting you and the baby first because God only knows your boyfriend and his family aren’t going to.”
Clara’s words stung like I’d landed face-first into a beehive. But despite the way my heart protested, I knew that she was right. I couldn’t deny it. The final straw though came when I reached out to his mom, Allanah, in one last-ditch attempt to salvage whatever I had left with her son.
“You know what I think, Billie?” Her words were cutting and judgmental as they came down the phone. “I think you got yourself pregnant to entrap our youngest son. Tucker has done nothing but support and love you, but the second he spends some time on himself, you don’t like it. My boy is as faithful as it gets, and you’re lucky he hasn’t tossed you onto a trash heap like countless other men would’ve done. If you want my advice, be grateful for what you have.”
That was the last time I heard from his family, other than an email from Tucker’s dad, confirming that they would be stepping back from providing additional support due to the “smear campaign” I’d spread throughout campus. If sharing with family and friends that you think your boyfriend and father of your unborn baby is cheating amounts to dragging someone’s name, then I should be suing left and right for the bullshit that’s been spread about me over the years.
Crying isn’t the answer, and I know that. Repeatedly, I’ve told myself that I’m not alone in having and raising a child and that I didn’t make the biggest mistake of my life when I decided to keep the pregnancy, trusting that I had the right people in my life to survive even the toughest days of motherhood.
Society tells women that we can have it all—the career, thefamily, the social life. But what about when the man who got you pregnant chooses himself above you and his child? What then?
A treacherous tear hits my cheek, and I swipe at it in disgust.
How many more times will I cry over him?
“Billie, baby?”
