Page 2 of Because of Them

I nod, unsure if I can get any words out without heaving. I hate the thought of leaving my boss to do my work and giving him ammunition for his crusade against working mothers. More than that, though, I hate myself for not being about to handle the constant juggle. I was starving earlier, but the hunger pains have been replaced by an utter emptiness that has left me feeling ill.

More ill than I’ve felt since I was pregnant with Maisie. It was more than five years ago but I can still remember the tightness that would start like hunger but rapidly shift into a pain that made me heave. I haven’t felt anything like it since. Until this.

Shit.

The thought slams into me as I step into my stuffy, sun warmed car. I turn the car on with the door still open, waiting for the air conditioning to blow cool air before closing myselfinto the hot box. That can’t be why my stomach is in knots. But I’m left scrambling through my thoughts, counting backwards, sifting through my memory. I can’t remember the last time I had my period, but I always skip the little yellow sugar pills, so it’s impossible to figure out if I’m late.

Besides, Michael used a condom. Every time. Except,shit, that one time it broke.

Broke.

Like something out of a movie or a teenage nightmare. I hadn’t thought it would matter, I kept taking the pill long after my ex and I stopped needing it, so when I did need it again there was no doubting its effectiveness.

But there was that day when Maisie was sick. And then I was sick. Was that before or after the broken condom incident? Does that make a difference? Surely I can’t be that unlucky. Can I?

As I continue to spiral, the twisting and nausea in my stomach falls lower. Despite the heavy heat that still lingers in the car, I wrap my cardigan around my middle, curling in on myself. Cramps erupt over my lower abdomen. I justknow. Like I just knew with Maisie.

Only then, it was planned, even if the timing threw us by surprise. And I had Callum to calm me down, to reassure me, to promise me everything was going to be okay.

I don’t have anyone now.

Fifty-one … fifty-two … fifty-three …

The chill from the bathroom tiles numbs my toes and I bounce side to side with each count. I track the seconds against the faint tick from my watch, too scared to leave the bathroom for my phone so I can time the test properly. It sits beside the sink, blinding me. Pressing my palms to my eyes, I will myself not to look early until I count out the instructed three minutes. But it calls to me like a siren, singing a song I know all too well.

I reach for it, pulling the plastic stick into view. A glance is all it takes to confirm what I’ve known since this afternoon.

Two pink lines.

Maisie is going to be a big sister. I’m having a baby.

The test shakes in my hands. I drop it onto the counter at the same time my knees buckle and I fall to the floor. The plastic tube rattles around the sink, as sporadic and uneven as my now hasty breaths.

Unprepared for the iciness of the ceramic to permeate through my leggings, I tense at the chilling sensation when my butt hits the floor. Wriggling on the spot, I heave in oxygen. Every muscle cramps inside me, tears clump at my lashes. I taste the salty liquid as it trickles over my cheek and into the corner of my mouth.

I can’t do this.

A thud sounds from down the hall, echoing through the house. Maisie, most likely rolling in her bed and kicking into the wall. I hold my shaky breath, listening for any signs the collision may have woken her. Instead, only silence follows, broken only by my hushed sobs and Maisie’s loud, sniffly inhale.

The air I was holding in escapes my lungs.

One by one, I stretch out my aching limbs, scrambling to stand like a baby giraffe. My body lurches out of the ensuite and I collapse onto my bed. Sobs muffle against the pillow until it’s wet from my tears and sticking to my cheeks.

Somewhere below me, my phone vibrates. I let my arm flail around me, finding the cool brick of my years old phone near my thigh.

The screen is lit with messages from Michael. All the ones I haven’t answered over the past week and the string of new ones from today. The latest one is short, but it tugs at the muscles in my heart.

Michael: Please Audrey. I miss you. I miss us.

I close my eyes, dropping the phone onto my chest. I can’t remember the last time someone other than my daughter missed me. If it wasn’t for the thirty-seven messages that came before this one, it might have been nice.

Besides, Michael and I had nothing in common. I have a career, a daughter, and a house. I have, by all considerations, a successful adult life. Minus the long-standing relationship. Michael, on the other hand, has none of those things. Instead, he has a job he refuses to progress in, a dog that follows him everywhere, and an apartment that screams ‘bachelor pad’.

At first, the only thing that worked about us was the way our bodies moved so well together. And it was fun, God was it fun, but I wanted more. Little by little he showed me pieces of himself, and I started to think that with Michael I could have more. I wanted to fall, I was ready to fall, head over heels for him. I wanted a man who was sure of himself, and his place in life, and I wanted him to fall head over heels for me too. Michael might have still been working on the first part, but I thought he might be ready to fall for me. For a while it seemed like he was. We were good. No, more than good. We were golden.

Then he got a glimpse into what a lifetime with me would be like and ran for the metaphorical hills.

First he ghosted me, now he haunts me.

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