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I stare at the wall the entire time and finally, after he’s finished wiping his hands on a dish towel, he stares at me.
Hereallystares at me.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m pregnant,” I blurt out, wanting to cover my face but not letting my shame take over. I stare him in his eyes, watching them narrow in confusion before he shakes his head.
“We only had sex for the first time like three weeks ago,” his confused smile starts to fade, and his eyes widen now. I shake my head to confirm just before he stares at my stomach, as if he could get an answer from the unknown party in the room.
“It isn’t yours,” I confirm, preparing for his anger. Preparing to be called a whore and for him to leave and never come back.
“Do you know who the father is?” he asks, staring at my kitchen island as if he can’t bear the shame of anI don’t know, which angers me.
“Of course I do,” I snap. Then I take a deep breath and start again. “He’s…someone I used to see in college.”
“You never told me about a college boyfriend,” Peter says, finally looking up at me with his brows drawn.
“He wasn’t my boyfriend.”
“So, you got pregnant by some asshole you used to fuck in college who wasn’t even your boyfriend?”
When he puts it like that…
“I guess you could say that,” I whisper, wanting to hurry up and get to the part where he leaves me.
“Sabrina…” he trails off, turning his back to me. I watch his back as he runs his fingers through his hair, seemingly working through his emotions. I can hear the clock in my living room ticking and I look around, wondering how to prepare this space for a baby.
“Are you planning on keeping it?”
The question rings in the air and I hardly register it before I speak.
“I am.”
I’d only found out about it a few minutes ago and maybe needed more time to fully understand what I’m deciding here. But I know that if I hadn’t planned on keeping it, the thought of altering my space wouldn’t have entered my mind.
Having witnessed my sister’s journey of loss makes me even more sensitive to the situation I’ve somehow landed myself in.
Yes, I’m having this baby.
Peter turns, bracing his hands on the countertop before he looks up at me, his chin still tucked toward his chest.
“Then let’s do this,” he answers, and I open my mouth to speak but he waves his hands. “I love you. I’m not leaving you, Sabrina.”
I wasn’t prepared for this, and I don’t know how to respond to someone wanting to stay. To someone offering me everything and truly meaning it.
“Just…promise me,” he starts, and I stare at him, waiting for the rest of his words. “Promise me you won’t tell him.”
Give up the idea of ever knowing Abraham as a father, give up him ever knowing about the existence of his child for Peter? A man who promises to stay and love me and this baby?
Silently, I nod.
And all while Peter makes plans for us, the thought of Abraham continuing through his life without knowing about the very permanent effects of our blind lust haunts me.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
NOSEY BITCH
PRESENT
