His baby.
My baby.
No.
I cannot afford softness.
Not until I know what I am dealing with.
Not until I knowwhoI am dealing with.
Mario.
Anna.
The way he touched me.
The way he looked at me when I said I was his.
I stand too fast, and the room sways.
I grip the back of the couch until it settles.
Water.
I need water. Food. A doctor. A plan.
I walk to the kitchen, pour a glass of water, and take small, careful sips, not keen on vomiting it all up again.
I walk back to the couch and eye my phone. I set the water down with care and pick the phone up.
Then I type before I can lose my nerve.
I’m home. Not feeling well. I’m going to rest and work later if I can.
I read it once.
It gives him something without really giving him anything.
I hit send.
The reply comes so quickly, I stop breathing.
Mario:Do you need a doctor?
My eyes burn.
It’s a practical question, and it should not make me want to cry.
Do I need a doctor? Yes.
But not the one he thinks I need.
I type:
No.I’m okay. Just need sleep.
Lie.
