Page 57 of Chasing The Goal
“But the truth is,” he continued, “every time I picture it—doctor’s visits, the birth, late nights, first steps—it’s like I’m outside the picture. Like I’m watching someone else’s life.”
I blinked slowly. My hand curved over the swell of my belly, now unmistakable even beneath my coat.
“You’re not a bad person,” I said quietly. “But this isn’t something you can half-do. Not for me. Not for them.”
He looked back at me then, and his eyes were red-rimmed, tired in a way that was deeper than sleep.
“I know,” he said. “And I don’t want to confuse things. Or come in and out. That’s worse than not being there at all.”
My throat tightened.
“This might be my only chance,” I whispered. “My body isn’t exactly reliable. And this baby… it’s everything to me. I need to give them a clean story. Not a maybe. Not a ghost.”
Jackson swallowed hard, nodded slowly.
“I’ve talked to a lawyer,” he said after a long pause. “He can draw up the paperwork. Termination of parental rights. Something official. No loopholes, no questions.”
Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them away. This wasn’t the moment to fall apart.
“You sure?” I asked.
“I’m not proud of it,” he said. “But yeah. I’m sure.”
Hepulled out his phone, tapped something quickly, then looked up at me.
“You’ll get a notification in a second.”
My own phone buzzed in my bag.
I pulled it out, unlocked it. My breath caught.
Zelle transfer: $9,000.
No message. Just the number sitting there like a quiet apology.
“Jackson…”
“I know you’ll say no,” he cut in. “But don’t. It’s done. I’m not buying my way out. I just want you to have what you need. Crib. Car seat. Diapers. Whatever.”
“I didn’t ask for this,” I whispered.
“I know,” he said. “But it’s the only thing I can give that might make a difference.”
He stood then, slow and deliberate, like he was afraid he might change his mind if he didn’t move.
“I hope you have a beautiful life,” he said, eyes full and honest. “Both of you.”
I couldn’t speak.
My throat was tight with all the words I didn’t need to say, because somehow, we’d already said enough. He gave me a small nod—barely more than a dip of his chin—then turned.
One step back. Then another.
He moved with the weight of finality, like every footfall carried the sound of goodbye. And then he disappeared through the front door, swallowed up by the pale gray light of morning, leaving only the faint chime of the bell in his wake.
I sat there, still and slow, in the warmth of the coffee shop, surrounded by the soft clinks of mugs and the low murmur of other people’s normal mornings. The smell of espresso hung in the air, cozy and unbothered by the storm that had just passed through me.
One hand came to rest over my belly, cradling the curve that had finally begun to show. The other wrapped around my now-cold latte. My fingertips curled tight against the paper cup like they needed something to hold on to.
