ANNA
“So that’s…” My chin quivers, but I fight against it, urge my lips to remain flat and the quaking to stop. “That’s what you want?”
“Who is it best for? For me or for…” My voice trembles, the words almost inaudible. I try to regulate my breathing, will my lungs to steadily pump, but it feels like something is sitting on my chest while my heart splits into two. “You?”
“For…” His voice breaks but he clears it. “Us.”
A lone tear creeps down my cheek and his eyes immediately trace it. He lifts a hand and takes a step forward, but I take one back. His hand stays suspended in the air, and when he closes the distance, I don’t draw away.
He wipes it away and cradles my cheeks in his palms. Anguish mars his face. “I’m sorry.”
“Then don’t do it,” I plead. The composure I was clinging to crumbles before me as desperation slips through every crevice. I raise my arms, circling my fingers around his wrists in an attempt to keep him where he is. “Stay, please. Don’t do this.”
“It’s better this way. You will be fine without me,” he says, but his eyes betray the determination in his voice. He drops his hands limply at his sides.
“No I won’t. I want to be with you. I’ll come back. We will get the house. We will—”
His eyes harden, jaw clenching. “You’re not throwing everything away for me. You worked hard for this.”
“We’ll build a future like we promised we would,” I continue. “We’ll—”
“Anna.” He speaks over me, my name leaving his mouth in a quiet but cold tone. It freezes me in space. The tears build in my ducts but don’t spill. “We’re done. We—I can’t do this anymore.”
“Mama, open.” Rosie holds a toddler-sized fork with a piece of pasta on it. “Ah ah.”
I blink a few times, locking away the memory.
She urges me to lean down and open my mouth, and when I do, she shoves the pasta in. She’s going through a phase where she wants to feed everything to everyone.
“Thank you, my love.” I give her cheek a soft pinch.
She smiles in return and continues eating, her little pigtails bouncing as she tilts her head from side to side. She eats without a care in the world, her mouth and hands covered in Alfredo sauce.
Maya brought her over to the bakery for lunch and bought Em and me food.
Guilt and anger land like a tornado on my chest, twisting and destroying whatever happiness I thought I had finally managed to find. Ever since Sylas showed up last night, I’ve not been able to feel anything but those two emotions.
“Are you not going to eat?” Maya asks. “Your food is probably already cold.” She breaks off the piece of bread that came with her meal and stuffs it in her mouth.
I glance down at my bowl of ravioli. It’s filled with lobster and covered in a spicy tomato vodka sauce, with grilled shrimp scattered around the plate. It smells divine, but I can’t stomach anything right now.
I’m anxious, nervous that Sylas will come back.
His last name isn’t on her birth certificate, but I did enough research to know if he really wanted to fight for her, he could petition the court for a paternity test. I should be at ease because he didn’t bring her up; he pretended like he didn’t know about her, but he could’ve been playing me.
Maybe he wanted to see how I would react, use my words against me.
I don’t know, but his mom was adamant if I ever came near him again, they’d take legal action.
The thought makes me feel sick.
“I’ve been cramping. I think I’m going to get my period soon,” I lie, pasting a small, apologetic smile on my face. “Sorry, I should’ve told you.”
“It’s fine. Just heat it up later.” She shrugs, unbothered.
Clementine, who is sitting on the other side of me, eyes me suspiciously, but I don’t pay her attention. Thankfully, she doesn’t voice her thoughts out loud, which is unlike her.
We spend the next few minutes talking until we have to open up the bakery again.
“You be good to Maya, okay?” I hold my daughter extra tight, drawing out the embrace.
She giggles, pushing at my chest to put her down.
“Don’t let her con you into buying—”
“But just look at this.” Maya picks her up, waving her hand up and down her round, bright face. “And either way, I’m her aunt. I’ll buy her whatever I want.”
She looks just like him. I wish she didn’t.
The guilt becomes tenfold because looking at her makes me hate myself. I’m happy I have her, but I hate that she’s a reminder of him.
I’m a horrible parent.
I roll my eyes, pretending to be annoyed. “She already has enough toys, and it’s already tight as it is in the apartment. There’s no more room for—”
“Oh, look at the time. You need to open, and we need to go. Rosie and I have a busy day.” She’s halfway out the door, waving goodbye at Em and me. “We’ll see you at home. Bye, Clementine, I’ll see you later. Maybe one day we can find a time for all three of us to do Pilates.”
“Definitely. Text me.” Em grins.
Once they’re gone and the door closes behind them, Clementine folds her arms against her chest, staring at me with the most serious expression I’ve ever seen.
“Why do you look like that?”
“You’ve been distracted all day, and I know you’re not cramping.
Our periods always come the first of the month.
” Dammit, that’s right. I forgot we’re synced up.
She narrows her eyes, continuing. “What is going on, and who the hell am I fighting? You know I’m a certified black belt.
I can kick ass. Male or female, it doesn’t matter. ”
After Sylas left, I cried it out, not dragging myself up from the bakery floor for ten whole minutes.
Which is why my face is puffy and red this morning.
Em had already suspected something was wrong, but I didn’t tell her or Maya.
Though my sister didn’t ask because we still haven’t opened up all the way.
I just don’t know how to talk to her, and even though things are different between us now, I’m too embarrassed to share.
“I’m a mom. Remember, I told you periods worsen after giving birth. Sometimes I get cramps before I get my period.”
That’s not necessarily a lie. I was told by my midwife that periods can worsen after every birth for some women. The joys.
“I remember, but you’ve been weird. Weirder than yesterday. Is everything okay, sweets?” she asks, her worried gaze flickering all over my face.
Just as I’m tempted to tell her, the bell chimes. I tense, but it quickly dissipates as two female customers enter through the door.
He won’t come back, I tell myself.
“I’m good. I promise.” I force my smile to lift higher. “I’ll be in the back if you need me.”
This is so pathetic. I can’t believe I had to make a fake account to reach out to him. I don’t know if he’ll even see it, seeing as he has close to four million followers. My best bet is that he won’t, but it’s worth a try.
Me: It’s me, Anna. I know you want nothing to do with me, seeing as you’ve blocked me everywhere. I really hate to tell you via Instagram DM but I’m pregnant.
Me: I’m not doing this so we can get back together. I promise. Please just call me.
I’m shaken back to the present when I hear Clementine’s raised voice. I thought she’d already locked up.
“We’re closing! Come back never!”
I’m taken aback by the rage in her tone. Running to the front, I stop abruptly when I see the reason for her anger. Sylas stands by the front door, Em in front of him, blocking him from entering any farther.
“I really need to talk to her,” he begs.
I take a step back, my anxiety coming back full force, but the movement catches his attention. He does a double take and our eyes lock.
“Anna,” he breathes out, relieved. “I need to talk to you. Please.”
“You’re a few years too fucking late. Get out, or I’m calling the police,” Em spits out, folding her arms across her chest and standing her ground.
He towers over her, but despite his height, he looks small and exhausted. Dark circles pool underneath his eyes, and his hair is disheveled in a way that tells me he’s been running his fingers through it. And I could be reading too much into it, but I swear I see trepidation cross his features.
I almost let Clementine escort him out or fulfill her promise to call the police, but the longer I stare at him, the deeper my resentment becomes, my fury annihilating the rational part of my brain.
I march to him, going around Em. Every word I wanted to say in the few seconds it took me to stand in front of him fizzles. I’m stuck between cussing him out and not saying anything at all.
“I thought I told you not to come back.” I aim for neutral, but hurt trickles out.
He was my first love. My first everything. I was madly in love with him, and I almost gave up everything for him. I cried and pleaded—desperately, might I add—for him not to end things. I begged him to want me, for him not to leave me. But it wasn’t enough.
“Rosie—”
“No, you won’t take her from me!” I don’t mean to raise my voice, but dread fills every inch of me. Every worst possible scenario circles in my head. How does he know her name? Has he been keeping tabs?
“No, I—why would I—no—” he stammers, wide eyes frantic. “Is Rosie mine?”
I suck in a breath, faintly hearing Em say she’s going to call the police. My body vibrates with rage. I’m ready to tell him to fuck off, but I don’t get to. His pale green eyes roam over my face before he’s speaking.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He sounds genuinely devastated, grief-stricken. “She’s almost three, Anna, isn’t she? You had two years…” He huffs out a heavy, disbelieving sigh. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
My face stings from the accusation in his voice. Slapping me would have been less effective. I thought being threatened by his parents was bad, but this is worse.
“Why didn’t I tell you?” I scoff incredulously.
“Clementine, wait,” I say over my shoulder when I notice she’s pulled out her phone.
Then, to Sylas: “I tried to tell you! I tried for weeks! I fucking tried! Don’t come here and act like…
like…” I clear my throat, my emotions too thick and hard to control.
“Like this is news to you! You wanted nothing to do with her!”
“This is news to me…” His voice is so soft I almost don’t hear what he says.
His shoulders sag, face twisting in visceral pain.
“We have a daughter? We have a daughter.” The second time it’s a statement, as if he’s coming to terms with the words himself.
His nostrils flare and he rolls his jaw.
He closes his eyes and breathes in deeply. “I need a trash can.”
“For—”
“I’m going to throw up.” He tips his head back, pinching the bridge of his nose.
My eyes go wide, but I immediately grab the one by the front door and hand it to him. He doubles over and vomits into it. My anger wanes, concern takes over. Mom mode activates. I go to the back, wet a clean rag with cold water, and grab another clean one and a water bottle.
“What do you need me to do?” Em cautiously asks as I approach Sylas.
He’s hugging the trash can, still doubled over, but not throwing up anymore.
I can’t believe I’m going to do this, but I smile at her. She shakes her head, but I press on. “It’s okay. I’ll be okay. I’ll call you if I need anything.” I sidle up next to him, noting how pale he is.
She relents with a nod, heads to the back to grab her stuff, and exits the bakery, leaving Sylas and me alone.
“I swear I didn’t know,” he states into the bin, still dry-heaving. “I swear, Anna, I fucking swear. I promised you we’d do it together. I missed…fuck.” He closes his eyes, growing paler by the second. “I’m so fucking sorry…”
I think…I think he’s telling the truth.
What went wrong?