Page 23 of The Rejected Wife

This time, I do chuckle. “She must be hungry. Or maybe, she wet her diaper.”

“Wet her diaper?” His voice stumbles over the words as if it’s the first time he’s spoken them aloud—which admittedly, it must be.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes and, closing the distance to him, I thrust the note at him. He has no choice but to accept it. I head for the carrier and pick up the child. “There, there, sweetie. You’re okay now.”

I rock her, and her cries slow down. I brush past him inside the apartment. When he doesn’t follow, I glance at him over my shoulder.

The irony is not lost on me. I thought I met the man of my dreams. I thought he was the one. I thought he was going to rock my world. That my future as I knew it would change. And it has. Just not how I expected.

“Better bring her carrier and the diaper bag inside, big guy.”

14

Tyler

“There; all done.” Cilla leans back from the bathroom counter where she just finished changing the kid’s diaper. She wraps up the used diaper in a disposable bag and holds it out.

When I make no move to take it from her, she frowns. “Can you bin this please?”

Pushing aside this feeling of being discombobulated, like I’ve been transferred into an alternate reality, I push away from the entrance to the bathroom where I’ve been lurking and inch in her direction. When I reach her, she waves the package at me. I catch a whiff of something unpleasant and wrinkle my nose.

“Go on,” Cilla says in an impatient voice.

I pinch the pungent package between my thumb and forefinger, head to the trash can, and drop it in.I’m not proud to say that my hands won’t stop shaking. My stomach twists, flips, churns. I can taste the panic on my tongue, bitter and metallic.There’s a baby in my house. And apparently… It’s mine?

Nope; not possible. I’ve always wrapped it up. But has there ever been a time I didn’t? I try to think back and come up with… Nothing. Nope. I’ve never been tempted to do it bareback. Not until I met… her. The woman who’s turned brisk and focused on the child since it…landed on my doorstep.

“You’ll have to get a diaper disposal bin to lock in the odors,” she throws in my direction.

What the—?I pause, then pivot to face her. “What do you mean?”

“The garbage bin you have won’t suffice to stop the smell from spreading in the bathroom,” she says slowly, as if I don’t understand what she’s saying. Which I don’t. Because I’ve never had to think about the consequences of throwing a baby’s soiled diaper in the rubbish bin.

On the other hand, my mind is reeling with trying to come to terms with the events of the past half-hour. One moment, I was sure I’d met the woman I was going to spend my life with. I was looking forward to making love to her and convincing her to never leave. The next, there’s a baby at my doorstep—and it’s, apparently,mine?

The security guard called to explain what had happened. A woman showed up carrying a baby carrier and told him she was there to see me. She sounded so confident that I was expecting her that he didn’t think to check with me. He let her in, figuring it was legitimate. Later, he realized she must have left through an emergency exit, because he never saw her leave through the main doors.

She gave a name, which I’m sure is going to turn out to be fake. He didn’t bother to check her ID—a serious lapse—nor did he check in with me first. Andhe allowed her to come up unaccompanied. It’s going to cost him his job.I don’t feel sorry about it, either.He should not have let that woman in.

I have no idea who she could be. I’ve never brought a woman to this place before. If I wanted to spend the night with a woman, I’ve always preferred it to be in a hotel. And could one of those nights have resulted in this kid?

Priscilla brought it into the living room and tried to soothe it. When it continued to cry, she held up the baby and smelled her diaper.She smelled her diaper!Jesus Christ. Then she rummaged around in the diaper bag and found additional diapers. She headed to the bathroom, and I followed her. Because really, what else was I supposed to do?

Her actions were competent, her tone soothing as she spoke to the baby while changing her nappy. I watched from the safety of the bathroom entrance for as long as I could.

I’m only putting off the inevitable. My rational mind knows that. But emotionally… Fuck. I’m unraveling. This whole thing is a minefield, and I’m walking it blindfolded. Every instinct I have is screaming—sharp and loud like sirens in my blood. My skin prickles, too tight for my body. Nothing makes sense except the one thought which keeps repeating in my head:Surely, this kid can’t be mine?

“Look at the shape of her eyes.” Priscilla stares down at the infant looking up at her. “They're similar to yours.”

“What? No.” Once more, I sidle over to her—because I feel like any sudden movement might alarm the child. I confess, a part of me might be holding onto the hope that if I don’t get too involved with her, perhaps, I can find a way to foist the responsibility off on someone else?Because she’s not mine.Nope. But I’m curious enough to want to see what Cilla is talking about.

I reach her and peer over her shoulder. The baby trains her big brown eyes in my direction. At least they aren’t mismatched like mine. And the shape of them? Honestly, I can’t tell if they look like mine or not.

“Also, her jawline,” Cilla says softly. “Do you see the resemblance?” She traces her finger in the air over the kid’s face. “So like yours.”

“I don’t see anything,” I say irritably.

“Well, she does seem like she’s yours.” Cilla nods in a way that makes me realize she’s made up her mind.

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