"Why are you telling me now?" Harrison yelled, the rage finally breaking through the shock. "Why let me sign the lease? Why let me sit in that waiting room all night?"
"Because I finally got in touch with him last week," Emily said, her smugness returning. "I sent him the ultrasound. He flew back. He wants to be a father. He’s going to take care of us. Which means I don't need my safety net anymore."
She pointed to the door. "So, you can leave now. Go back to the apartment, pack your duffel bag, and get out before the end of the month. We're done."
Harrison stood paralyzed, vibrating with a rage so complete it blinded him. He wanted to scream. He wanted to flip the bed. He was a hollowed-out shell of a man, gutted by the woman he had sacrificed his soul for.
Before he could open his mouth to speak, the heavy wooden door of Room 412 clicked and slowly swung open.
Heavy, confident footsteps stepped into the room. The scent of expensive cologne cut through the sterile hospital air.
Emily’s face lit up with a brilliant, genuine smile—a smile she had never once directed at Harrison. "You made it," she cooed.
Harrison turned his head slowly, his eyes tracking fromthe floor, up a pair of tailored suit pants, to the face of the man walking into the room.
The man stopped, looking from Emily to Harrison.
Harrison’s heart stopped dead in his chest. All the blood drained from his face. His jaw went slack, and his eyes widened in absolute, paralyzing disbelief.
"You?" Harrison breathed.
