Seven Months Pregnant—My Stepsister Called My Baby a Bastard Chapter 11

Seven Months Pregnant—My Stepsister Called My Baby a Bastard Chapter 11

The next summer, a business trip took me back to Port Briar.

It was Atlantic storm season, and the air felt heavy with moisture.

A light drizzle became a downpour in seconds.

I closed my umbrella and ducked into the neighborhood diner where I used to eat.

The owner was still behind the counter, and steam rose from the flat–top grill.

I ordered grilled cheese with tomato soup and ate slowly.

Then a voice behind me sounded both strange and painfully familiar.

“The usual, please.”

He sat at the table in front of mine, wearing an old jacket that had been carefully preserved.

Another customer passed him and accidentally splashed a little coffee on the sleeve.

Graham froze, then exploded.

“Are you blind? Watch where you’re going!”

“Do you have any idea what you did to my jacket?”

The customer’s temper rose too.

“I apologized. If it won’t come clean, I’ll replace it.”

“Why are you acting like this? You need help.”

“What did you say to me?”

Before the argument became physical, the diner owner rushed over and separated them.

He guided the customer to another table and lowered his voice.

“Don’t take it personally. His wife divorced him, and he lost his job.”

“I heard he spent months drinking every day. At least he finally leaves his house now.”

“His temper is terrible, so don’t provoke him. No one knows what he might do.”

I glanced toward the table and said nothing.

Gray had spread through Graham’s hair, and his clothes seemed to swallow him.

Even from behind, I could see how thin he had become, his shoulder blades jutting beneath the

fabric

I had saved for that jacket and given it to him during our second year together.

He had worn it only a few times during our eight years, yet now he guarded it like treasure.

How ridiculous.

I stopped looking, paid my check, and left.

The sound of my shoes on the tile made Graham turn instinctively.

“Maren…”

He stared and whispered my name.

I did not respond. I opened my umbrella and stepped into the rain.

A chair scraped violently behind me.

Then I felt his gaze following me.

I never looked back.

Once I walked far enough for that unwanted stare to disappear, I frowned and murmured,

“I still hate the rain, Mom.”

Of course, she could not answer me.

I smiled at myself and continued walking.

With every step, the rain weakened.

A rainbow appeared at the edge of the sky.

I closed my umbrella and heard someone nearby laugh in delight.

“It finally cleared. I was getting sick of all this damp weather.”

Yes. The storm was over.

My eyes stung as I spoke silently to my mother.

Thank you, Mom.

I love sunny days.

(The End)