Page 35 of My Ex’s Dad

I didn’t lose her before. I left her. I decided the fun was over and gave her an easy way out of my life. She was dismissed, having served her purpose for those two nights we were snowed in together. But now I wonder why I still feel this pull to need her, to have her again.

It makes no sense.

I should’ve let her go by now.

The usual hectic pace of my life should have diminished the potency of the memories.

But here I am, frantically searching for her, looking for her long golden hair, hoping to catch sight of her blue eyes.

The pounding footsteps of my driver follow me. We slip and skid on the fresh ice and the usual debris at the edge of the pavement. But nothing stops me from scanning for her, whipping my head side to side, searching.

I run past another building, and as I clear a set of steps, she’s there.

Her bright blonde waves trailing loosely over her shoulders as she walks.

Her cheeks pink as she keeps her gaze cast downward.

Her lips curving into a frown as she steps one foot after the other.

Without a coat.

Without a clue that I’m here.

“Liliana.”

She jerks her head up when I call out for her.

Her eyes open wide with alarm a split second before she gasps and turns to run.

She’s out here without a desire to see me again.

I take off, catching up quickly with my longer stride.

“Liliana, wait—” I reach out to grab her right as she slips.

Her arms windmill, and then she braces herself for a fall.

I’m quicker, snatching her into my arms and tugging her closer.

Before I can speak, before I can pull her closer and tuck her under my coat, she stiffens, leans forward, and throws up right then and there.

15

LILIANA

Anton is here.

More than the burn in my throat and the roiling nausea in my stomach, the heat of his touch cuts through the shock. All the shock. From seeing him again after not expecting to. From learning that I’ll be a mother. That I am a mother already.

As of five minutes ago, when I rushed into the nearest CVS, bought a test, and took it in the bathroom there, I am a mother. The lines on the stick came up fast and bold, proof that I am, without a doubt, carrying a child.

Not just any child.

I close my eyes, staying as still as possible in the cold of the night. I will my lungs to fill with air, to chase away the breathlessness of vomiting.

His.

I’m carrying Anton Sokolov’s baby.