Page 100 of Sugar & Shadows

“I’m upset. And terrified,” I said through sniffles. “I’m everything. Literally every thought, emotion, hormone, and fear all rolling downhill like an avalanche.”

I stood, needing to move. “I can’t do this. Everything is a disaster. I have no job and no home. I’m a disgraced political operative who’s hiding out in Vermont, and now, I’m apparently reproducing?”

I stared at her, hoping she had an answer that would make everything better.

“Q1 has been a real shitshow, huh?” she said.

I came to an abrupt stop and turned to her. This moment continued to become more and more surreal.

“Sorry. I was trying to use your corporate speak,” she mumbled.

Then I burst out laughing. I dove back onto the bed, tears rolling down my face as I lay there, caught somewhere between devastation and elation and mild hysteria.

Mom rubbed my back and chuckled. “I don’t know what to say. This situation isn’t in any of the parenting books I read at the library.”

That made me laugh even harder.

“I don’t know how to start over.” The confession landed heavier than I’d anticipated. Like a weight on my chest. But I couldn’t wrap my mind around the thought. What I’d done up to this moment hadn’t worked. It hadn’t gotten me where I wanted to go.

“You don’t have to figure it all out tonight.”

“But I do. Because if I continue the pregnancy, nothing will ever be the same.” I stopped and swallowed hard. “Any chance of rebuilding what I had is gone.”

“Do you want to rebuild that?”

“Fuck no,” I admitted. “But what if I don’t know how to do anything else? What if I don’t know how to do this?” Hiccuping, I looked down at my stomach.

“Sabrina Monroe, I did not raise you to give up so easily. Where is my girl who looks every challenge in the face and laughs?”

“I had a dream,” I whispered, a shiver running through me. “A little girl. She was sassing me about clothes, and she just looked…” I roughly dragged a hand over my face. “I knew her, Mom.” My throat tightened. “She was my daughter.”

Humming, she wrapped both arms around me and squeezed.

“I shouldn’t want this,” I whispered. “I shouldn’t even be considering it.”

That got a scoff out of her. “Why not?”

“Because it’s complicated,” I snapped. “Impractical.”

“All true. So what do you want?”

I studied my hands, considering the life I’d built for myself out of sheer willpower and hard work. “I’ve always known what I wanted.”

Another hum and a pat on my knee. “How’s that working out for you?”

“Rude,” I snapped back.

“Accurate,” she said gently. “Don’t tell me I raised a woman who suddenly lies to herself. Any fresh start requires one key element, honesty.”

I let out a shuddering breath. Damn my mother and her reasonableness and wisdom.

“But that’s the hardest part,” I admitted.

“I know, kid. Trust me.” She squeezed me again. “But I’m with you. Always. Whatever you decide. Whatever you need.”

“I know,” I cried, more tears falling. Not once had I doubted that. Not once had I been afraid to tell her my news.

We sat and cried together. I let her hold me and stroke my hair and tell me it was going to be all right.