Page 32 of Everything But Mine

She doesn’t answer, her eyes flickering down, left, like she’s guarding something.

“Val doesn’t tell you to do shit,” she adds without responding to the question. “She asks questions until you wonder if you’ve ever done anything right in your life. I just—he cheated, Eric.” Her voice doesn’t shake. Her eyes don’t tear up. There’s an edge of something more dangerous than pain; disbelief, mingled with resentment, calcified into numbness. “He fucked someone else. For months. In our bed.” She breathes deeply, but it doesn’t help. “He didn’t even give me the ‘It was an accident’ excuse. He just… did it. And she’s pregnant. This mess is going to be so… public. And that’s the choice he’s making. And everyone will see.” Amanda’s fingers scrub down her face like she’s trying to drag the thought off her skin. “Why should he get to have this baby?”

I want to say that he shouldn’t. I want to say that he doesn’t deserve anything. Instead, I say, “Because it’s his.”

There’s no mistaking the pain in her eyes. Perhaps I’m projecting, or we’re both hurting over possibilities she doesn’t realize aren’t all lost now.

Amanda’s posture softens, but her eyes stay far away. “Yeah,” she murmurs. “Exactly. It’s fucked up to not tell him. And I hate that.”

She wraps both hands around her glass. I want to touch her, anchor her, ask her to let me be part of this. Instead, I shift slightly under the table, brushing her knee. She doesn’t move away. She doesn’t lean in, either.

“I think,” she says slowly, “that I’m scared he’ll ruin this experience for me. The way he ruins everything. But not telling him… That ruins something, too, doesn’t it?”

I nod, but I disagree. It doesn’t ruin a fucking thing because he isn’t worthy. “You don’t have to decide everything tonight.”

“No,” she says. “But I kind of want to. I hate being in limbo.”

Same. I push my plate aside and lean in a little. My palms are damp, and my throat’s gone dry, even though I’m on my third glass of water. I have to do this now. If I wait, I’ll overthink it. I’ll back out and pretend I never had the thought in the first place.

“Amanda…”

She raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything.

“What if telling or not telling Daray weren’t your only options?” I ask.

She snorts, almost reflexively, but the noise is half-hearted. “That’s not how this works, Eric. I can’t kind of tell him.”

I shake my head, refocusing. “That’s not what I mean.” I clear my throat a few times, stalling. The words are there, but they feel enormous. Stupid. Naive. It’s not my baby. But it could be. Because I’m more than my failures. “He’s having a baby with someone else, right?” I ask. She nods. I finally caught it—humiliation. That’s what’s in her face; behind the anger. Diego was right. Hell, I’ll work with that. “So can you.”

“No, I can’t. I’m already pregnant,” she replies, confused, tilting her head like I’ve missed a key point in basic logic.

I purse my lips. Goddamnit, Eric, just say it. I try again, slower now. Here goes nothing. “Amanda, I know my being there today was… different. I know it probably crossed a line or blurred something you were trying to keep clean. But I meant it when I said thank you. For letting me be there. For letting me… feel that.”

Her eyes don’t leave mine, and she goes very still, without tensing, listening with her whole body.

“I want to do more than just be there,” I tell her. “Not just for the next appointment or expenses or the emergencies when you need help. I want—” I stop, forcing myself not to look away. “I want fifty-fifty. I want to do all of it with you. I want to co-parent.”

The word drops between us like a confession, heavier than expected.

Her brow furrows slightly. “Co-parent.”

“Yeah.” My voice cracks, and I hate how it sounds, what it gives away.

She sets her fork down and leans back, crossing her arms. Not defensive. Just… steadying herself. I can tell she’s trying to stay rational.

“Eric…”

“I know it sounds… outrageous. I want it, though. I’ve known it since I grabbed your hand in that room, and you let me hear your baby’s heartbeat.”

She flinches at your, and I catch myself. I need her to know what I mean.

“It could be our baby,” I say, softer. “If you let it be. I know it’s not mine, Amanda. Not by blood. But… I’d love to raise this baby with you.”

She leans further back, jaw set tight. Her eyes flicker to mine, then away, distancing herself mid-conversation.

“You’re serious,” she says with a disbelieving puff of air.

“I am.”