Page 235 of Sinister

“No . . .” Her face falls.

“Yes,” I confirm. “And your outrage is a bit late.”

I pocket my phone and place my hands on my stomach.

“I’m already five months pregnant. The fact that you’re just now noticing should concern you more than the fact that I’m pregnant.”

“But Petra⁠—”

“No. Maybe this isn’t what you wanted for me. But if you’d been around more, you would’ve seen the changes in my body long ago.”

My mother stares at me, eyes wet, lips trembling. Then she asks in a semi-wailing voice, “Is this an act of rebellion? Are you trying to punish me—punish us?”

I glare at her. Of all the things she could’ve said, she makes it about them.

“Sure, Mom. I got pregnant just to get your attention. I might be desperate, but not that desperate.”

Tears stream down her cheeks. “But how could this happen? You’ve never seemed interested in anyone. You’ve never even had a boyfriend!”

I roll my eyes. “As if you were ever around enough to know whether I had one or not. Have you ever asked me?”

“There, there,” my father says, trying to placate us. “Let’s not get carried away. Petra, if you’re joking, please tell us. This isn’t funny.”

“I told you. I’m not joking. And not that it’s any of your business, since I am eighteen, but yes, I have a boyfriend who loves me very much—and he’s excited about the pregnancy.”

My mother continues to cry. “But you’re so young!”

All the while, my father holds her like she just learned the world is ending.

“You weren’t much older than me when you had me,” I retort.

She wails louder. “Exactly! I didn’t want this for you. I didn’t want you to end up like me! That’s why I told you to wait. To find someone you love.”

“And I did,” I fire back. “I found someone who loves me, and I love him. Yes, I’m pregnant. But don’t worry, I won’t end up like you. I actually plan to be in my child’s life.” I’ve thought about this. A lot. And no matter what’s going on, whether this baby is . . . supernatural, or whatever, I’ll love him.

Because he’s mine. I’ll love him the way I was never loved. I’ll give him the attention I never got.

She gasps audibly, her eyes widening in shock. My father continues to try to calm her down. They’re so wrapped up in each other, not even looking at me. And all my old grievances come rushing back.

In a moment that should be about me, about the fact that I may actually want this baby—though, it’s the first time I’ve admitted that—they’re still talking about their feelings. Their expectations. Their plans.

Pain shoots through my chest.

My eyes sting. I blink quickly, unwilling to cry in front of them. I turn and head up the stairs.

I didn’t expect them to be supportive. But I didn’t expect this.

Disappointment crushes me.

And I don’t know if I’m more disappointed in them for being who they always were or in myself for expecting anything different.

I swallow down the lump in my throat and wipe the tears from my eyes. I try to stay strong, try not to fall apart—but it’s cruel, so cruel, that when I need them the most . . . they’re still not there.

All I’ve ever wanted was for them to acknowledge me. Not as a burden, not as an obligation. But as a person.

My mother knocks at my door and opens it slightly.

She gazes at me for a few moments in silence, her expression tight and uncomfortable.