Congrats, ‘Daddy’! Just Kidding—My BFF Stole You, I Got the Abortion Chapter 03

Congrats, ‘Daddy’! Just Kidding—My BFF Stole You, I Got the Abortion Chapter 03

Dad was on the couch when I walked in. Reading glasses on, book in his lap.

His pill organizer sitting on the coffee table. Seven little compartments all filled up.

I sat down next to him. Put my head on his shoulder.

He patted my hand, laughing a little. “What’s going on? Holden do something stupid again?”

“No. Just wanted to see you.”

I stayed the whole day.

Helped Mom in the kitchen. Played chess with Dad.

Right before I left I texted future him again.

[what about my mom? what happens to her?]

He wrote back fast.

[after your dad died you had a breakdown. joelle put your mom in some shady nursing home. used your name to sign the papers]

[by the time i found her theyd been giving her the wrong meds for months. she didnt recognize anyone anymore]

I gripped my phone so hard my hand hurt.

Then turned around, saw Mom in the kitchen humming to herself.

On the drive home I pulled over.

Put my forehead on the steering wheel. Couldn’t stop shaking.

That kid who used to scare off anyone who messed with me.

That teenager who shoved his umbrella at me in the rain and ran home soaking wet.

The guy who transferred every dollar he had when I started my business. Didn’t even hesitate.

He really did all this?

But it was way too specific. Had to be real.

I wiped my face and kept driving.

Back home, I started packing.

I was done.

Then my phone rang. Hospital.

Figured they just wanted me to come pick up my results.

But the doctor stopped me cold.

“Ms. Sloane, congratulations. You’re three months pregnant. Baby’s healthy.”

My hand went straight to my stomach.

Three months.

Before Holden even proposed, this baby was already here.

My eyes got wet.

Not from pain. From how fucked up the timing was.

I sat in that hospital hallway for hours holding the ultrasound printout.

Finally pulled out my phone and texted him.

“Do we… have a kid? In the future?”

Screen showed he was typing. Stopped. Started again.

Over and over.

Finally:

“We did. Once.”

Then another message.

“Stop asking. Please.”

An hour of silence.

Then a voice memo popped up. His voice sounded wrecked.

“Sloane, that baby… if you got rid of it now, it’d be better.”

“Don’t let anyone know. Not even me right now.”