Secret Mission Turned Out to Be Fathering My Bestie’s Baby Chapter 01

Secret Mission Turned Out to Be Fathering My Bestie’s Baby Chapter 01

My best friend Jessica Blake went into labor, and I drove through the night to get back to town for her.

Mother and baby were healthy. I stood by her hospital bed, my eyes burning with unshed tears.

“Have you picked a name yet?”

Her smile faltered for a fraction of a second. “Nathan Reynolds Jr. We’re calling him Jamie.”

“Reynolds?” I blinked. “I thought you said the baby was taking your last name. Does the biological father have that last name?”

She mumbled something vague and changed the subject.

“Emma, I’m really craving a Chipotle burrito from the Westbrook University District. Would you go grab one for me?”

She looked so worn out that I pushed my questions aside.

I was halfway to the hospital entrance when I remembered I hadn’t given her the gift I’d brought.

I hurried back upstairs, and saw my husband, Nathan Reynolds, walking into Jessica’s private suite with a bouquet of roses. He was supposed to be two years into a classified government project that had kept him away from home.

He sat down by the bed, took her hand with a tenderness that made my chest cave in.

“You did so well, honey.”

My mind went blank. Blood roared in my ears.

My hand was already on the doorknob when my own mother walked past me, holding the baby, beaming from ear to ear.

“Look, sweetie, you recognize Daddy’s voice, don’t you?”

Reynolds. Of course—Nathan’s last name.

The classified project. The “single mother by choice” story. All lies.

Even my mother was in on it, helping her legal goddaughter and her son-in-law fool me.

—

I should have burst in and demanded answers. Why did they lie? When did it start?

But the moment Nathan looked up, I ran.

Like I was the shameful one. Like I was the other woman sneaking a peek into someone else’s happiness.

I didn’t stop until I reached the street. My heart was lodged in my throat, making me nauseous.

My phone buzzed. A text from Jessica.

[Emma, I’m so sorry—I totally forgot, that Chipotle location closed down.]

[You haven’t slept all night. Go home and rest, okay?]

I laughed bitterly. Home? What home?

I used to think my mother’s house would always have a room for me.

Nathan and I owned a place together, but the deed was in my name alone.

And I had the passcode to Jessica’s apartment. She’d said, “My home is your home—no, this is our home.”

Two months after our wedding, Nathan was pulled into that “classified project.” At least two years, they said.

I spent most of that time at Jessica’s. She used to joke that we were the ones who acted like newlyweds.

Once, after a two-week business trip, I found a condom wrapper wedged between the couch cushions.

I teased her about having a secret boyfriend. Her face went scarlet. She stammered.

“It’s not… he’s not my boyfriend… it’s just… we can never be together, that’s all.”

“Emma, if I did something immoral, would you hate me?”

I didn’t hesitate. I told her I’d always be on her side. I didn’t pry. My only condition was that she not get hurt.

When she told me she was pregnant six months ago and planning to keep it, I was stunned and worried. But the first words out of my mouth were, “It’s okay. You have the baby, and I’ll help you raise it.”

She cried so hard she choked on her sobs, saying “I’m sorry” over and over.

Now I knew what she’d really meant.

And the man she’d been apologizing for? My husband. The boomerang had come right back and hit me square in the face.

I went to my mother’s house. The front door had a new smart lock with a keypad code. I couldn’t get in.

Half an hour later, my mother showed up.

She found me sitting on the ground and clicked her tongue as she punched in the code. “Did your phone die? Why didn’t you text Jessica back? She was worried you’d go all the way there for nothing—she called you a bunch of times.”

I watched her stooped back and felt like I was looking at a stranger.

“So you came back too. Who’s at the recovery wing with her now?”

Her hands paused for a second as she changed her shoes.

“The birthing center sent over a night nanny, and there are nurses on staff. You don’t need to worry about it.”

She walked into the bathroom to wash her face.

They didn’t need me. My rush to be here when Jessica went into early labor was just an inconvenience.

Her phone buzzed from her purse.

I pulled it out. The lock screen was a photo of the baby now—not the silly selfie of her and Jessica it used to be.

The passcode was Jessica’s birthday.

Which was also the anniversary of Jessica’s mother’s death.

On Jessica’s twelfth birthday, I got a stomachache after eating cake. Her mom rushed me to the hospital and died in a car crash on the way.

Everyone told me it wasn’t my fault, but I’ve always carried the weight of feeling responsible for her mother’s death.

So my mother made Jessica her legal goddaughter and treated her better than me.

New clothes for her at every season change. I got her hand-me-downs.

Fresh-squeezed orange juice was for Jessica. I couldn’t touch it.

The last piece of roasted chicken? Always saved for her.

For her eighteenth birthday, she got a charm bracelet. I got a birthday cupcake with a candle.

It was only fair. I never resented it.

Besides, Jessica was sweeter than me, more thoughtful, more charming. Of course my mother liked her more.

But somewhere along the way, giving way became the default. Everyone got used to it.