One
ALLISON
W hen she was six, Allison drowned.
Okay, she didn’t really drown, since she was still alive and all. But, she nearly did.
She had been running on a pier, wanting to reach the pretty boats floating a few miles away. And before anyone could see her, she jumped.
Into the water.
Without knowing how to swim.
Yay brain.
It was like a scene straight out of a cartoon—arms flailing, water splashing everywhere, and the lifeguard sprinting over as if he were auditioning for Baywatch. By the time she was hauled out, she looked like a soggy cat that had just discovered what a bathtub was for.
She didn’t go near any body of water for five years.
But this? Oh, this was the most traumatizing event of her life.
“Allison Pink Lockwood!” a gruff voice boomed from outside her apartment. Allison winced.
He used the full name. I’m in deep fucking trouble.
She approached the door as one would approach a scared baby deer. Taking a deep breath, she opened it.
“Hello, Father,” she greeted him with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, which admittedly wasn’t much.
“Explain. Now.” He stormed inside, ordering her around in her own house, and she obeyed because her father was not a patient man. He had been the CEO of Lockwood Inc. for so long that he demanded nothing less than perfection from everyone. Even his children.
Especially me.
“Hi, Allison, how are you? Oh, I’m good, Father, thanks. How about you? Good, good,” she mimicked the polite conversation they should have been having, instead of the interrogation that was about to begin.
“Do not test me right now, daughter,” her father continued, standing, of course . “Frederick called me last night. He mentioned something that I thought made no sense. Because I know my daughter .” She winced. That was his favorite jab.
“But Frederick is not the kind of man who would lie to his father. Do you know how I know that? Because I raised him properly, just as I believed I did with you. Therefore, I need you to explain yourself immediately,” he finished, likely improvising the speech on the spot, as was his style after years in business. Or his style, in general.
A wave of betrayal crashed against her at the thought that her own brother had snitched to their father. It was as if she’d been stabbed in the back with a giant “World’s Best Brother” trophy. She could practically hear the theme music from a soap opera swelling in the background, complete with dramatic camera zooms and all.
Her brothers’ relationship with their father had always been strained, and for good reason. As she’d grown older, Allison had learned that their father had been cold and distant, leaving the child-rearing to their mother. But that was nothing compared to how he had treated Allison. To him, she was a constant reminder of what he had lost—his wife. She had killed her mother just by being born, leaving her father a widower and her brothers motherless.
Allison had missed her mother every day of her life, as both a fragile child and a growing woman. Her brothers had known their mother—they’d had her love, her warmth, her gentle touch. And Allison could never forgive herself for taking that away from them. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t meant to, that it wasn’t really her fault. The guilt was still there, a constant companion.
She took a deep breath. And a second one. Then a third. Then she left her red-faced father in her living room.
I need some juice.
By the time she returned to the living room with her orange juice—with the pulp—and her father’s scotch neat, he had whipped out his phone and started calling her brothers. Judging by his tone, he was currently speaking to—
“Leopold! Do not tell me to calm down, young man! You—” her father cut himself off when he saw her taking a seat on her white-as-clouds couch, ending the call without another word.
Allison took a deep breath, preparing herself for the onslaught of questions her father was about to unleash.
“Father, I don’t know what Fred told you, but—”
“Silence,” her father interrupted and she obeyed. The man had a magnificent way to make her feel small. “Frederick told me that my only daughter, my youngest child, is pregnant! Can you explain that?”
“Well, what else is there to explain? I had sex with a man, and now I’m carrying his child,” Allison said with a level of snark only a few people could bring out of her. “I know you understand how children are made, Father. You and Mom did it four times.”
“Do not talk back to your father, young lady! I will not accept such language from your mouth. Now, tell me when you found out and, more importantly, who the father is,” he demanded.
Lockwood Inc. had been her father’s true child ever since she could remember. He had started with nothing more than his sharp mind and keen eyes as weapons against the world, watching how men conducted business. He learned it all and built an empire from it.
He was now founder and owner of one of the largest and most reputable conglomerates in the world. And he made sure everyone knew it, including his family.
She huffed.
This is not going to be easy .
“Well, if you must know, I found out yesterday morning. And I don’t exactly know who the father is,” she admitted, wincing. She didn’t want to say those words out loud, especially in front of him. He had been distant when she was younger, but now he was very invested in her adult life, especially if it might reflect poorly on his character.
Her father didn’t speak. He didn’t move. He barely even breathed. His eyes were fixed on her, unblinking, as if he were a statue. The tension in the room was so thick it could have been cut with a knife. When he finally spoke again, his voice was chilling, like a cold wind slicing through the air.
“Are you telling me you had sexual intercourse with a complete stranger? And you were reckless enough to skip protection?” he whispered in her face, his breath hot and furious. The words dripped with disdain, and his eyes blazed with a mixture of anger and disappointment.
There it is.
Her father was notorious for dangerous, sharp digs. It usually didn’t take long for him to think Allison had done something wrong enough to provoke his wrath. However, he rarely used that tone with her. The only times she had heard her father use that voice were when she was inside his office, sitting in on his meetings.
“How could you be so stupid?” he shouted, his voice echoing through the room like a thunderclap.
His short fuse ignited, and his scorching anger seemed to burn her from the inside out. His face turned a deep shade of red, veins bulging at his temples, and his fists clenched tightly at his sides. The sheer intensity of his rage made her feel as if she were standing too close to a blazing fire, with nowhere to run.
“Oh, sure, let’s shout a little bit louder, because I think the old lady on the ground floor didn’t quite get that,” Allison replied, sarcasm dripping sourly from her mouth like vinegar.
“Now is not the time for jokes, daughter. I taught you better than that!” Her father used another weapon from his endless supply of insults. She raised the glass to her lips, then paused.
I’ll probably barf it up later.
Oh my God, this baby will be the end of me.
She sighed, putting her juice down on the beige coffee table that matched perfectly with her decor. She took a deep breath before asking, “Are you done?”
Her father scoffed in response. “Do you have any idea what this could mean if word got out? Do you…” His mouth kept moving, but she had stopped listening. Disappointment sat heavy on her chest.
If this conversation had happened the previous day, she wouldn’t have fought the man. At that moment, she had been uncertain and afraid of everything, considering every possible scenario. Each option felt like a looming shadow, weighing her down and filling her with anxiety. She had envisioned her future and felt the fear of being alone in this.
But this morning, everything changed.
Allison had simply gone to the supermarket, on a mundane quest for lactose-free milk—an innocent grocery run that quickly turned into something much more profound.
As she strolled through the aisles, her eyes flitted over the familiar shelves until she passed the baby aisle. Baby food, diapers, wipes. She had seen all of this before, often disregarding it as if it didn’t apply to her life. But today, it felt different. Today, those products seemed to shine with an undeniable allure.
A hand had stroked her belly, as if some invisible force compelled her to acknowledge it. It was an instinctive gesture, both foreign and familiar, a fleeting moment that felt heavy with meaning. Suddenly, she knew.
Though abortion was an option, she simply didn’t want to go down that path. The thought of it echoed in her mind, but it clashed violently with a new sense of clarity that had washed over her. She yearned to embrace motherhood, to defy not only her father’s expectations but also the world’s general perception of what her life should look like. She felt a powerful urge to step outside of the neatly prescribed box that had been outlined for her.
For once, she was making a choice guided by her own desires, mind, and heart—a radical shift from the fear that had gripped her just a day prior.
In that moment, standing in the baby aisle, surrounded by pastel colors and the scent of baby powder, she felt a spark of determination. It was as if a switch had flipped; she was no longer a passive observer in her life but an active participant.
She imagined what it would be like to hold her baby, to nurture and love someone unconditionally, to shape their future with her own hands. The thought filled her with an exhilarating blend of joy and trepidation, but the fear was no longer paralyzing. It was invigorating.
Finally, she was seizing control of her life. Gone were the days of simply reacting to circumstances; she was stepping forward with intention. This was her path, and for the first time, it felt right.
And her father needed to either join her, or leave.
“Let me stop you right there,” Allison interrupted his rant, lifting her hand in a universal stop sign. “This is not some grammatical error you’ve found in one of your contracts. This is not something you need to fix . I will not allow you to talk like that about me or my baby. In fact, this is something you need to either accept or you need to get the hell out of my house.” Her voice was chilling as she pointed to the door. “ Now .”
She had never spoken that way to her father, always nodding along to his every whim. She couldn’t deny how good it felt to finally stand up for herself.
Her father stood, locked in place.
She briefly wondered if that meant he had finally chosen to support her.
And then he picked up his stuff and headed toward the door without a backward glance, and she deflated.
Guess not. So much for getting support.