Page 110 of Everything But Mine

I laugh once, humorless. “Daray’ll blow it up all on his own.”

Her nails dig into her forearm hard enough to leave red crescents. “You made those papers to manipulate him.”

I meet her eyes steadily. “The papers are so Eric and I can move forward. If you want Daray, keep him. Just get him to sign.”

Understanding flashes across her face so fast it’s almost frightening.

“That’s what this is,” she says loudly, nearly triumphant now. Heads turn toward us in the vestibule. “Eric doesn’t want to raise another man’s baby.”

Her shoulders twitch between words.

Val steps in smoothly before I can answer. “Cassie, right? I’m Dr. Valeria Ross.” Her tone goes calm and clinical in a heartbeat. “What do you want for yourself and your baby?”

Cassie blinks, thrown completely off-script. “I just…” Her face crumples briefly. “I thought if we had a baby, he’d stay.”

Val and I exchange a quick glance.

“She’s yours, Cassie,” Val says gently. “Amanda’s stepping away. She’s drawing up papers to help you keep him.” Val’s gaze flicks to Cassie’s forearms, where she’s been scratching herself to a deep red. “How are you feeling about becoming a mom? Do you have support?”

“I’m fine,” she says too quickly, covering her ears for a second before dropping her hands again. “He’ll sign, right? Then he’ll only have my baby?”

“It’s the first legal step,” Val says carefully. “Later, through the courts, he’ll formally ratify that he doesn’t want Amanda’s child.”

Cassie’s entire expression brightens with eerie relief. “Perfect.” She breathes. “Then he’ll stay with me.” She walks away, smiling crookedly to herself.

Val observes her carefully, her mouth pressing into a thin line, eyes dimming in recognition before she smooths her features.

“Thank you,” I say to Val as we go into the elevator and hit different numbers.

“She isn’t well,” she says. “Perinatal anxiety can escalate fast postpartum. Sometimes, psychosis.” Her tone is steady, but personal. “Still, I wasn’t going to let her talk shit about you.”

When I sit at my desk, a text comes in. A forwarded voice note from Val. I press play, and Eric’s low voice fills the room.

“Hey Amanda, you’re twenty-eight weeks and three days. He’s the size of an eggplant. I’m sorry, it looks like I’m missing the cabin trip this year. I miss you. Choose a color for the nursery.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

ERIC

This was supposed to make me feel better. Or at least more prepared. Instead, I’m stuck away from Amanda in this particular newfound hell called group therapy. Soft instrumental music drifts through the large facility as if there’s some study proving it’ll sand everyone’s edges. Outside the large floor-to-ceiling windows the late afternoon sunlight flows in between the pine trees.

I don’t belong here.

Everyone around me carries something heavier. A kindergarten teacher who still flinches when doors slam because her ex sent her to the hospital. A pediatric nurse who stopped sleeping after a baby died in her arms. A former army medic with burn scars on his cheeks.

A man whose father left. A man who cheated on the only woman he’s ever wanted and still somehow expects to become a role model. I sit through group therapy feeling like a fraud.

Then there is me. Every breakthrough everyone else seems to have leaves me more aware of how far behind I am.

I should be getting better by now. Instead, I lie awake every night listening to the walls and think about Amanda sleeping without me while her body changes and the kid gets bigger, forgetting the sound of my voice.

And I’m doing what? Matching feelings with words like that’ll make me ready.

I clear my throat. “I shouldn’t even be here.”

Dania, the pediatric nurse, frowns. “Eric⁠—”

“No, seriously.” Heat crawls up my spine, settling on my neck and cheeks. “You all have real trauma. And I’m here because I can’t handle… meanness.”