Nancy reaches into her drawer and hands me a cheery paper,“Milestones of Development—Week 20!”printed at the top in a bright font. I can’t look her in the eye when I take it.
“Baby girl is about the size of a banana,” she reads off, like I haven’t already Googled these a million desperate nights in a row. “You’ll probably start to feel her kicking a lot more in the next couple weeks. You’re doing great. She looks really healthy.”
“Thanks,” I say again, quietly.
That's all I know how to say anymore.
Nancy gives a tight little nod, tosses her gloves, and tells me I can get dressed.
Once alone, I stare at the printouts in my lap. I want so bad to text Ben, tell him everything.Would he even answer? Would he understand?
I feel like a total idiot for even thinking he’d want to have anything to do with me, hearing how I was knocked up by some stranger in a sex club, whose face I never saw.
I quickly get dressed, tucking the photos into my purse, burying them under my wallet and my keys, like hiding her will make the craving for him any smaller.
I take a deep breath, wipe my face, and push away all the ‘what ifs’ or ‘what could have beens.’ Because sometimes life doesn’t go the way we want it to, but you have to keep going. And sometimes you have to do it alone.
The second I’m out in the hallway, I duck my head and try to blend in.Like that’s possible.
My sweater might as well be a glowing sign. I’m six pounds heavier than the last time I wore it, and if I move too quickly, it rides up, exposing everything I’ve been hiding. I keep one arm folded across my stomach, pretending I’m cold, or nervous, or both.
Nobody looks up. No one ever does.
I book it down the hallway, eyes on the ground, counting tiles. All I want is to make it to my car without being seen.
Instead, my phone buzzes, screen lighting up in my hand. The alert makes me jump and I nearly drop it.
It’s my lovely stepmom.
Be home by six for dinner. No excuses this time. Your sisters will be there.
My stomach sinks, and the same old nausea rises up, except now, I can’t blame hormones.
I try to text back, something generic, but my head’s spinning.
I round the corner at full speed, right into someone twice my size.
The collision is brutal, making me drop everything. Including my purse, and all of its contents. The envelope of ultrasound photos goes flying, pictures everywhere.
I drop to my knees, scrambling to pick them up before anyone else can see.
But it’s too late.
I freeze; photos clutched in my fist and look up.
Standing right in front of me is Corinne Hayes.
Ben’s sister.
I haven’t seen her since the night Ben invited me to their family game night. She doesn’t say anything, just looks, eyes sharp and zeroing in on me. Except she’s not glaring.
She’s staring at my bump and the ultrasound photos like she’s seeing a damn ghost.
“April?” she finally says, her voice flat and weirdly soft.
I try to stand up, but my legs aren’t working. I’m stuck in a squat, holding the pictures to my chest, wishing I could vanish.
Corinne takes a step closer, and her gaze jumps between my face, the bulge under my sweater, and the one black-and-white photo that’s still lying on the floor.
