Abort. Abort. Abort.
“Mum,” I whisper urgently, “I have to go.”
“Oh, just one more thing,” she says. “Do you think I should invite him for Sunday lunch if I see him again?”
I feel something inside me snap. Not loudly. More like a rubber band giving up.
“I’m pregnant,” I hiss.
Silence.
Actual silence.
Even the office seems to pause, like it’s leaning in.
“You’re… what?” my mum says.
“And Alex is not the dad,” I add quickly, because if I’m detonating a bomb, I might as well commit to it.
More silence.
Caroline stops at the desk, looks at me expectantly.
“I will call you this evening,” I say into the phone, enunciating every word. “We will talk. Slowly. With tea.”
“Christa,” mymum says faintly.
“This evening,” I repeat, already reaching to hang up. “Love you. Bye.”
I end the call and place the headset down with the care of someone defusing unexploded ordnance.
Caroline raises an eyebrow. “Everything alright?”
“Yes,” I say, smiling so hard my face aches. “Just family things.”
Caroline’s mouth tightens in that way it does when she smells weakness.
“Personal calls,” she says coolly, glancing pointedly at the handset, “are better taken outside work hours.”
“Of course,” I say. Bright. Composed. Entirely professional. “It won’t happen again.”
She holds my gaze for a beat, clearly enjoying the moment, then pivots and stalks off down the corridor, heels clicking like punctuation.
I wait until she’s gone. Until the glass doors stop swinging. Until my pulse drops belowimpending cardiac event.
Then I exhale.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Like if I do it wrong, everything might explode.
My hands are shaking just enough that I notice when I click with the mouse on the messaging app.
Me
I just dropped amajorbomb on my mum.
