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My heart drops as I hear Moira’s voice at the front door. “The front door was open, so I just came in. I hope that's okay-” She stops speaking as she catches sight of Cynthia. Her gaze shifts from my ex to the little girl sleeping on the couch, then jumps to me, stunned disbelief in her eyes.
Before I can even try to explain, Cynthia jumps on the situation.
“How does it feel?” she asks Moira, who continues to study me without so much as looking in her direction. There's curiosity and concern and barely masked fear. I’d swear I also see anger there, but I'm not sure why.
Moira is adorably dolled up in a pair of olive green fitted slacks, a white, sleeveless shirt, and her hair in loose waves cascading down her shoulders. At some point, she must have hurried home to change, because it's not the same cute white dress she'd been wearing last night and this morning when she’d left.
“How does it feel?” Cynthia demands again as I lift my shoulders. I don’t have any answers for Moira, and I don’t know what to say. This whole situation is so unhinged, I'm not sure there is an explanation to be given.
How can I explain what's going on? And even if I do explain, how can I make her understand? And worse yet, I know she doesn't want kids, so how am I going to keep her from leaving me?
“Moira...” I say.
“Yes, Michael, tell her. Tell her the truth,” Cynthia says. “If you don’t, I will.”
My throat tightens and I'm still not sure what to say.
“Fine, I'll tell her.” Cynthia sounds smug. “So you're Michael's new girlfriend, and you're going to be a stepmother. Unless you don't want to be with a man who already has a child from a previous relationship.”
Moira’s lips part and I see the hollow at the base of her throat bottom out. I'm not sure she could have received worse news from a worse person. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Cynthia smiling wickedly.
Moira looks from Cynthia to Grace to me, a bewildered expression on her face.
“Michael, is this true?”
I hate that I can't tell her it's not. “We need to do a paternity test to know for sure.”
She looks like I've just slapped her, and she takes a step back, a hand flying to her throat as if she can somehow stop herself from choking... or throwing up. Moira stares at me and says nothing, but her eyes say everything. Hurt. Disbelief. Disgust. Anger... I see them all flash through her expressive eyes.
“I can explain,” I say.
“Can you?” Cynthia sounds smug, as if she knows she’s won this round. And I worry she might be right.
“So there's a possibility this child is yours.” Moira doesn't even give me a chance as she nods her head, clearly in shock and trying to come to terms with this knowledge.
“There's a small possibility.”
“Oh, don't lie to her, Michael. It's a really good possibility. I mean, a fifty-fifty chance are the kind of odds you bet on, right?” She glances at Moira as if she expects backup.
And all at once, I wonder if it really matters. If Grace is mine, I've lost Moira forever. And if Grace isn't mine, then I know for a fact that Moira does not want kids and will not stay with me if there is a possibility of children in the future. No matter how this whole situation resolves, we are incompatible.
And that thought breaks my heart.
“She was cheating on me when she got pregnant. She claimed that the child was his, married him, and denied me the one thing that I've wanted more than anything, a family of my own.” I figure I might as well contribute to my self-destruction.
But Moira doesn't seem to be hearing me.
She still seems to be processing the possibility that I have a child.
“She broke up with me, she married him, and cut me off and didn't contact me again until very, very recently. Right around the time you came into my life, to be exact.” The timing is suspicious, but I imagine it's just another coincidence. “I am reasonably certain that Grace is not my daughter. I will have my lawyer look into a paternity test, of course.”
Cynthia seems almost gleeful as she looks Moira up and down, clearly certain she’s won.
“I still can't believe you left that little girl in the car for hours while you were in the club. Are you sure she’s okay?” I ask.
“You left your child in the car?” Moira sounds stunned.
“She's a terrible person just like I remember. Clearly she’s a terrible mother too.” I can see Cynthia 's rage as I say the words, but there's nothing she can say to deny it. I want to check and make sure the little girl is okay, but I'm afraid to approach.
