Sunny
Dear Liam, she began, her handwriting uncharacteristically shaky.
By the time you read this, I’ll have gone to stay with a friend for a few days. I’m not abandoning the girls — please make that clear to them. I just need some space to think, and I believe you do too, after what I’m about to tell you.
She took a deep breath and continued writing.
There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just be direct: I’m pregnant, Liam. The test I took tonight confirmed it. Our night together after the confrontation with Morgan — when we weren’t as careful as we should have been — resulted in a pregnancy.
I want you to know I never planned for this to happen. I would never use a child as a way to insert myself into your life. I understand if you need time to process this news, which is partly why I’m giving you space.
I don’t know what this means for us, for the girls. Everything is complicated enough with the media scrutiny and your team’s concerns. This will only intensify those pressures.
I care deeply for you and the girls — more than I can express in words. The thought of causing you more pain breaks my heart. However, you deserve to know the truth, and I couldn’t bear to leave without an explanation.
Tears splashed onto the paper, smudging the ink in places. Sunny wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, struggling to maintain her composure long enough to finish.
I don’t expect anything from you, Liam. I’m not asking for promises or commitments. I only ask that you believe me when I say this wasn’t deliberate. Whatever you decide, whatever you feel is best for your family, I will understand.
Take whatever time you need. I’ll have my phone if you want to talk.
With love and regret, Sunny
The clock on her nightstand read 2:37 AM by the time she signed her name. The house remained quiet, the only sounds were the occasional creak of settling wood and the soft patter of rain against the window. Sunny folded the letter carefully, slipping it into an envelope addressed simply to ‘Liam’.
Exhaustion tugged at her, but sleep felt impossible. Her duffle bag sat accusingly on the bed. Beside it lay the letter — her concession to honesty.
She planned to leave before dawn, before the girls woke up. A clean break was best. She’d call them later, once Liam had time to process the news. She would explain her absence in age-appropriate terms, promising to see them soon and assuring them that she wasn’t abandoning them.
The plan formed in her mind with artificial clarity, a fragile structure built on assumptions and hope.
If she left now, she could avoid the morning confrontation, the shocked expressions, the questions she had no answers for.
Liam could read the letter in privacy and contact her when he was ready.
It was considerate, wasn’t it? Giving him space to process without her tearful presence complicating things?
Sunny paced the length of her room, one hand absently resting on her still-flat stomach. The enormity of her situation pressed down on her. A baby. A child of her own, growing beneath her heart.
For a moment, she allowed herself to wonder about this tiny person.
Would the child have Liam’s piercing blue eyes that could communicate volumes without words?
Or her golden-brown hair that caught the sunlight?
Would the baby inherit her tendency to overthink everything, or Liam’s defensive nature?
Perhaps the little one would have his athletic build, strong and solid, or her artistic tendencies.
The thought of a little girl with Liam’s smile or a boy with her dimples made her heart constrict painfully.
Despite everything — the terrible timing, the public scandal, the uncertain future — a small, secret part of her cherished this new life.
This child would never know the pain of feeling unwanted, regardless of what happened with Liam.
This baby would be loved fiercely, completely, unconditionally.
She would break the cycle that had defined her own life.
Sunny caught sight of herself in the dresser mirror: pale and tear-stained, yet somehow determined.
She was no longer the frightened girl who had bounced between foster homes, always anticipating rejection.
She had built a life for herself, earned her education, and created a career helping children. She had survived loss and heartbreak.
She could survive this, too — with or without Liam Anderson.
The thought steadied her as she carefully packed her bag: enough clothes for a few days, toiletries, her phone charger, and the prenatal vitamins she had impulsively purchased alongside the pregnancy test. Female intuition. Everything else could wait.
She changed into comfortable traveling clothes: leggings, an oversized sweater, and sturdy boots in case the rain continued. Her movements were quiet and methodical, a stark contrast to the emotional hurricane raging inside her.
The letter propped against her pillow had Liam’s name facing outward. The whiteness of the envelope stood out sharply against the deep blue of her bedding, impossible to miss.
She made a final circuit of the room, touching small mementos of her time with the Andersons.
The seashell Hailey had given her from their beach walks.
The hand-drawn picture from Maddie, depicting the four of them with stick-figure simplicity.
The candid photo of Liam laughing with his daughters that she had framed and kept on her nightstand.
Each object carried memories and promises of what could have been — the family she had started to believe might be hers, if only circumstances were different.
“Goodbye,” she whispered to the empty room, unsure who she was addressing — the Andersons, her old life, or some version of herself she was leaving behind.
Bag in hand, Sunny crept to her bedroom door, wincing at the soft creak of the hinges as she pulled it open. The hallway stretched before her, dark and quiet. She hurried out and descended the stairs, avoiding the third step that always creaked, then walked quietly along the hall to the front door.
Her feet froze. She couldn’t leave. Not yet. Not without one last look.
Sunny set her duffle bag silently on the floor and turned toward the hallway. She moved like a ghost through the darkened house, each step careful and deliberate. The plush carpet muffled her footfalls as she made her way to the girls’ room.
Their door was adorned with two handmade nameplates they’d crafted together — Maddie’s purple with sequins, Hailey’s blue with dolphin stickers. Sunny’s throat tightened at the memory of that rainy afternoon craft session, their concentrated faces, their laughter.
She eased the door open just enough to slip through.
Moonlight spilled through princess curtains, casting a silvery glow across their sleeping forms. Maddie was curled neatly on her side, clutching her stuffed penguin, while Hailey sprawled across her bed, blankets kicked aside, her dress-up tiara perched askew on her wild curls.
“I’m sorry,” Sunny whispered, so softly the words were barely a breath.
She carefully pulled Hailey’s blanket back over her small body.
With a final glance at their sleeping forms, Sunny backed out and pulled the door closed. Whatever happened next, these girls would be imprinted on her heart forever.
She walked silently back to the darkened foyer, the front door looming in the shadows.
Sunny picked up her bag and reached for the handle, her hand trembling. Behind her lay the warmth and complexity of the Anderson home — the makeshift family she’d begun to feel part of. Before her stretched uncertainty.
The baby — their baby — seemed to exist in both worlds, the one certainty bridging her past and whatever future awaited.
Three rapid heartbeats passed as Sunny stood frozen at the threshold. The weight of her decision pressed down on her shoulders, as tangible as the child growing inside her womb.
She took a deep breath, steadying herself for what lay ahead.