Page 133 of The Wrong Groom

And now Peyton is dreaming about losing her too.

The realization settles like a lump of cement in my gut. I did this. I’m the reason my daughter woke up sobbing, dreaming of a reunion that dissolved the moment she reached for it.

I hold Peyton tighter, my throat constricting. “I’m here,” I murmur into her hair. “I’ve got you.”

But it’s not enough.

Because I’m not the one she needs tonight.

“I’m going to fix this,” I tell her, my voice a hoarse whisper. “I promise, Bug. I’m going to make this right.”

Chapter 43

Alexis

Toothpaste foams on my molars as I scrub, the sharp bite of mint stinging my tongue and chasing away the foul taste of bile. I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. The face that looks back at me feels like it belongs to someone else. My skin is pale, my eyes framed by dark circles like bruises.

I started my day the way I’ve started every day for the past week: by throwing up in the toilet. Morning sickness has been relentless. The fact that there’s no one to take care of me, that I have to go through this on my own, has only made me feel worse.

I spit into the sink and rinse my mouth, then look up, meeting my own bloodshot gaze in the mirror once more. Those two little lines on the pregnancy test are still so vivid in my mind, etched permanently behind my eyelids whenever I blink.

I’m pregnant. The thought makes my stomach clench. Or maybe that’s just the nausea.

I have no idea what to do about this development. I was on birth control, but obviously, it failed. I didn’t even know that was possible, but a few quick Google searches confirmed it was more common than I realized.

I turn away from the mirror, my hand coming to rest on my abdomen. I want to leave the bathroom, to get started with my day, but the queasiness won’t let up. It’s made worse by my thoughts, by the way my heart aches whenever I consider the fact that it’s Gabriel’s baby inside me.

I wonder whether I could’ve been happy about this if I’d found out before, while we were still together. Would he have been happy? Would he have even wanted it? He already has a child, after all. And clearly, he never thought we had a future together beyond the prescribed three years of marriage.

I shove those thoughts away forcefully and stumble out into the hall. I’ve been doing my best not to think of Gabriel, but it’s been almost impossible. Especially with this new revelation.

In the bedroom, I sink down onto the edge of the mattress, my hands braced against my knees. I take a few deep breaths, needing to steady myself, to get some control over my roiling stomach. I took a half-day at the warehouse yesterday, and I was hoping to make up for lost time.

My cell phone buzzes on the nightstand. I check the caller ID. It’s my mother.

With a soft groan, I silence the call. She’s probably the last person I want to talk to right now.

I lie back on the bed, my head spinning. A wave of dizziness washes over me, and I close my eyes for a moment, trying to shake it off.

My phone buzzes again.

God, she’s relentless.

I know I can’t avoid my parents forever. But that doesn’t stop me from wanting to. I roll over, reaching for the phone, and check the screen. Sure enough, it’s another call from my mother. As soon as it goes to voicemail, the phone lights up again, vibrating.

Three calls in a row. I sigh through my nose. This is as good a time as any to rip the band-aid off.

I brace myself and accept the call.

“Alexis,” my mother says crisply.

I cringe, waiting for the hammer to fall, for her to say all of the horrible things that have been running through my mind since the divorce. That I was a failure as a wife, a failure as a daughter. That I wasn’t enough. That I never could’ve been enough.

She doesn’t, though. Instead, she simply says, “Where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you.”

“I’ve been… just busy,” I murmur, my fingers trailing along my unsettled stomach.

“Busy?” There’s an edge in her tone now, a hint of impatience.