Chapter 20
Chapter twenty
~EMMA~
Tuesday morning—eleven days after I told Donovan I should never have told him about the baby—I'm sitting in a conference room at a tech startup in SoHo, pretending to give a damn about this job interview.
"We're looking for someone who can scale rapidly," she says. "Series B just closed. We're expanding into three new markets. It's going to be intense."
"Sounds challenging," I say, because that's what you're supposed to say in interviews.
"Do you have any concerns about the workload? Late nights, weekend work, that kind of thing?"
I glance down at my stomach.
At sixteen weeks, I'm definitely showing now. Not enough to be obvious under the loose blazer I'm wearing, but enough that it's impossible to hide when sitting.
"I'm pregnant," I say, because there's no point in lying. "Due in January. So yes, I have concerns about late nights and weekend work."
Claire's smile tightens almost imperceptibly. "Congratulations. That's... wonderful. We're very supportive of work-life balance here."
Which is corporate speak for "we're not going to hire you."
"Thank you for your time," I say, standing. "I'll let you know if I have any questions."
We both know I won't.
Outside, the late July heat hits me like a wall. I'm sweating before I make it to the subway, my loose linen dress sticking to my back, my feet swelling in the flats I wore because heels are impossible now.
My phone buzzes. Sasha.
SASHA: How'd it go?
ME: She saw I was pregnant and mentally filed my resume in the trash.
SASHA: Her loss. Next interview?
ME: Thursday. Another startup. They'll probably react the same way.
SASHA: Or you could stop interviewing and talk to Donovan
I don't respond.
Because talking to Donovan would require acknowledging that I miss him. That I've been crying myself to sleep every night for eleven days. That I said things I didn't mean because I was scared and hurt and convinced he was going to leave me anyway.
That he did exactly what I was afraid of—walked away.
ME: I have to go. Doctor's appointment at 2.
SASHA: Emma. You can't keep doing this.
ME: Doing what?
SASHA: Pretending you're fine. Interviewing for jobs you don't want. Avoiding the father of your child because you're too stubborn to admit you were wrong.
ME: I wasn't wrong. He was with his ex-fiancée
SASHA: He was at a business lunch she crashed. You know this. Carmen told you.
I read the last text, hands shaking as I type out a reply.
ME: Gotta go. Heading into the doctor’s. Love you.
I turn off my phone before she can respond.
Dr. Chen's office is mercifully air-conditioned and nearly empty. I check in, fill out paperwork, and sit in the waiting room surrounded by happy couples discussing baby names and nursery colors.
I'm alone.
Again.
"Emma Sinclair?"
I follow the nurse back, get weighed (up twelve pounds, which feels both too much and not enough), pee in a cup, and settle onto the exam table.
Dr. Chen appears with her tablet and kind smile. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine."
"Any concerns? Questions?"
"No."
She studies me for a moment. "Emma, I have to ask—is everything okay? You seem... subdued."
"I'm fine. Just tired."
"And the baby's father? Will he be arriving?”
The question makes my throat tight. “I—not this time. He’s…busy.”
Which is not a lie. Donovan Titan is busy. We both are. Busy avoiding each other at work and pretending the other doesn't exist.
"Well, if you need resources—support groups, counseling, anything—just let me know." Dr. Chen squirts gel on my stomach. "Let's take a look at this baby."
The ultrasound wand presses against my skin, and there it is—bigger now, more defined.
Not just a blob but an actual baby shape. A tiny head. Body. Arms. Legs.
My baby.
Our baby.
"Everything looks perfect," Dr. Chen says. "Heart rate is great. Growth is on track. Do you want to know the sex?"
"I—" I stop. "Can I think about it?"
"Of course. We can find out at your next appointment if you'd like."
After she leaves, I sit on the exam table for a long time, staring at the ultrasound photos in my hand.
I should be happy. The baby's healthy. I have a good job—for now. I have friends and family who love me.
But all I feel is empty inside.
Because the person who should be here, who should be looking at these ultrasound photos with me, who should be asking about the sex and arguing over names—is not.
And it's my fault.
I'm the one who pushed him away. Who said I regretted telling him about the baby. Who made it clear I didn't want him.
And now I have exactly what I asked for.
His absence.