The Don’s Fake Sister in Law Chapter 07

The Don’s Fake Sister in Law Chapter 07

“Does Nathan know?” he asked.

I shook my head weakly. “I haven’t had the chance to tell him.”

The look in Ethan’s eyes was pure despair.

The one thing he regretted most-playing the godfather, showing up to talk me into breaking up.

He dragged a hand down his face, voice rough. “What… what are you going to do?”

“I want to get a check-up first. My stomach’s been hurting since last night-all your fault,” I said

pitifully.

Ethan pressed his lips tight, his anger bottled up.

Resigned, he drove me to the Campbell family hospital, staying silent and by my side the whole

time.

He wrestled with something, then finally asked, “What do you want to do about the baby? Whatever you decide, I’ll respect it. It’s still a Campbell’s blood.”

By now, a few couples nearby were staring, ears practically perked.

“I want to keep it.” I paused, then added, “But what if Nathan won’t acknowledge it?”

In Nathan’s mind, Ethan and I had been together for a while.

Telling him he was going to be a dad-he’d be anything but happy.

Ethan wiped his face again, like a husband pushed to his limit,

Through gritted teeth, he said, “If he won’t, the Campbells will. I will.”

I pressed further. “How? By telling him you’re the father?”

He nodded.

“And when the child asks about his mother?”

He closed his eyes like he was holding back tears. “I’ll marry you. I’ll tell him you’re his mother. Campbell blood doesn’t get left behind.”

“Claire, don’t worry. I’ll respect your choice. And I’ll take responsibility for it.”

The girl next to us rolled her eyes and stage-whispered to her friend. “Typical trash guy. Acts like an animal in bed, plays Saint in public.”

Ethan had taken enough abuse in two days to last a lifetime.

When my number was called, he came in with me. During the test, the doctor frowned. “Ma’am, are you sure you’re pregnant?”

I’ve always played dumb well. “Doesn’t one line on the test mean I’m pregnant?”

The doctor sighed and sent me to gynecology.

Who then sent me to gastroenterology.

The digestive specialist glanced at me and wrote a prescription for antacids.

Ethan’s mood was like someone who’d just negotiated a critical territory deal-he’d won, but felt like he’d also lost something.

Back in the car, he tossed the bag of meds into my lap, leaned in, and trapped me against the

window with his arm.

He grabbed my chin, tilting it up.

“Here. Take your abortion pills. Claire, am I just a joke to you?”