“You’re what?” He had to have heard wrong.
“I’m pregnant. You’re the father.”
He ran a hand through his hair, processing the information. “Are you sure?”
She scowled. “That I’m pregnant or that you’re the father?”
“Both?”
Fire flashed in her eyes. “Contrary to what my actions with you might imply, I don’t give myself to every man I meet. Far from it. And if I weren't sure, I wouldn’t be here having this incredibly awkward conversation.”
His legs turned to noodles. She’d been right—he should have sat down. Somehow, he walked five steps to the sofa and sank into it dropping the pie box beside him, covered his mouth with his hand as he took in all the implications.
“Here’s the first sonogram as proof.” She reached into her purse and handed him a thin sheet of filmy paper.
Emotions overwhelmed him. He gripped the photo with both hands and stared at the little blob. He knew enough about Sybil to know she told the truth. “This is our baby?”
She nodded and reached for the sonogram. “Like I said, I don’t expect anything from you, but thought you should know.”
He clung to the picture, unable to let it go. “This is my child, too. Of course, I’m going to be involved in its life.”
“I’m giving the baby up for adoption.”
For the second time in minutes, the air got knocked from him. “No.”
“What do you mean ‘no’?” She frowned and yanked away the picture.
“You can’t give away our baby.” He hadn’t completed the entire thought process, but he was a Scott, and Scott men owned up to their responsibilities.
“I didn’t make this decision lightly.” She moved away, crossed her arms and adopted a defensive stance. “This baby deserves more than I give.”
“How so?”
“Raising a child is a lifetime commitment. I’ve never even owned a pet because I didn’t want the responsibility.”
“So you’re just taking the easy way out?” His words kept coming out harsher than he meant, but he’d received a major blow that kept his mind from properly functioning.
Her jaw twitched. “That’s the furthest thing from the truth. I love this child already, and because I love this baby, I’m doing what’s best.”
“I’m sorry I snapped. I’m still trying to figure this all out.” He drew a calming breath. “Can you sit down, let us have an open conversation about this? Please?”
She hesitated, but inched slowly toward the sofa and took a seat on the opposite end. “I’m sorry for dropping this all on you. Maybe it would have been better if I’d never told you.”
“No, I’m glad you told me.” He took a minute to think about what she’d said, and realized it was only fair to hear her out. “I apologize for my complete rudeness—I, well, I’m sorry. Why do you think adoption is the best option?”
“I didn’t have the best childhood. I don’t even know who my dad is.” She stared out the window as she continued. “The only thing I know about parenting is how not to. I’m not even sure I know that. I’m messed up—and I didn’t even know it—not until faced with having a child of my own.”
“Lots of people with traumatic or imperfect childhoods have children and are great parents.
And to be honest, from everything I’ve heard from friends, no parent knows what they’re doing in the beginning. It’s all a learning experience.”
“Maybe, but I can’t risk that for my child.” Her eyes begged him to understand.
He did, to an extent. But he couldn’t ignore that this child was his flesh and blood. “I’ll raise him then.”
She laughed—a joyless, bitter, disbelieving sound. “You have your whole life ahead of you. You’d give that up for an unplanned pregnancy?”
“Men younger than me already have children. I’d have to adjust my lifestyle, but I’ll do it.” He narrowed his gaze. “I want this child. I won’t turn my back on my responsibilities.”
