Page 29 of Accidental Orc Daddy

Before closing the door and leaving her to her contemplation, I add, “And I’ve never said there’s no affection between us.”

Even if there wasn’t, I’d do anything to have that family.

CHAPTER 17

Meiko

I lean against the wooden back of the bench, letting my fingers graze my belly gently. “What are we going to do about Grandma, little one?” I ask.

Sitting in the stark glow of the hospital’s garden lights, there isn’t much else for me to think about. Other than the fact that I’m avoiding thinking about a particular question that I never expected a certain someone to ask me. We’ve been in touch via text here and there since he learned I was pregnant, but I’ve been keeping him at a distance for now.

My mind drifts back to Grandma – her warm smile, her comforting presence. She’s been fading away for nearly half a year due to ill health, and it only seems to get more and more unbearable to watch. The helplessness that washes over me is suffocating, a constant reminder of how fragile life can be.

It doesn’t help that, thanks to the life I’m cooking up within my very own body, my emotions are all over the place. Life seems to throw one thing after another at me.

The sound of shoes against the pavement forces me out of my thoughts. I immediately stiffen despite not knowing who it is, and pull my sweater tighter around my body before glancing over my shoulder.

Mustaf appears much to my shock. His brows are furrowed as he approaches, his hands clutching a small paper bag.

I eye him warily, my heart pounding in my chest. "What are you doing here, Mustaf?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

The question is heavy, pointed, and clearly not thrilled.

"When you texted me that you were here," he says, his voice gruff. He hesitates for a moment before holding the paper bag out towards me. “I thought you could do with something good to eat instead of whatever they might have here.”

I stare at him for a moment, taken aback by his unexpected gesture. I had been so focused on my own worries that I hadn't even considered the fact that Mustaf might be concerned about me. The notion of it touches me deeply, but I’m far too exhausted to find the right words he deserves for it.

"I'm not really hungry," I say, trying to brush off Mustaf's offer of food. But as soon as the words leave my mouth, my stomach growls loudly, betraying me.

Mustaf raises an eyebrow and chuckles. "Are you sure about that?" he asks, holding out the bag again.

I hesitate for a moment, feeling awkward and embarrassed. But my stomach growls again, and I can't deny that I am, in fact, hungry.

"Okay, fine," I say, accepting the bag from Mustaf with a small smile. "But only because I don't want to be rude."

Mustaf grins and takes a seat on the bench next to me. "Suit yourself," he says. "But trust me, you won't regret it."

As I open the bag, I realize with complete shock that he’s brought my favorite meal. A gyro with extra tzatziki sauce, crispy onions, and juicy tomatoes. I can't help but feel touched. How did he even remember this? The last time I had it was months ago before I found out I was pregnant.

Taking a bite, I let out a moan of pure satisfaction. I've been craving something this good. Most food makes me nauseous these days, but this is absolutely delightful. It's a small moment of pleasure in the midst of all the chaos and uncertainty, and I'm grateful for it. Grateful for him.

For a few moments, we sit in silence while I savor the food and the cool night air. Mustaf watches me with a small smile on his face, and I can't help but feel a little self-conscious. But then he starts telling me about his day, and I find myself relaxing in the conversation. He's being so kind and considerate, and it's hard not to let my guard down a little.

When I comment that I'm eating the food because the baby seems to like it, Mustaf smiles and nods. "The baby's preferences come first," he says gently. "Before either of ours."

Something about his words, his tone of voice, stirs something in me. Maybe it's the fact that he's acknowledging my role as a mother-to-be, or maybe it's just a simple act of kindness. But whatever it is, I feel my defenses wavering. I find myself wanting to open up to him, to tell him about my fears and worries.

But right now, his good company will do. This meal and our chat is a much-needed break from the chaos of the last few months.

As we finish up our meal, Mustaf clears his throat and looks at me hesitantly. "We need to talk," he states.

I nod, feeling a sense of dread wash over me. I know what's coming.

"I've been thinking a lot about what you said before, about not wanting to get married," Mustaf says. "And I’ve found a solution."

I raise my eyebrows, waiting for him to continue.

"What if we agree to only play the part of future spouses for a while, just for the first few months of the baby’s life?" Mustaf suggests. "We can go through with the wedding, but we don't have to make it a life-long commitment. We can agree to divorce after a certain amount of time."

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