Page 82 of Ugly Duckling
“Your daddy is always hungry, too,” I teased. “You want to get lunch and go see him?”
“Yeah!” she chirped.
I picked up my box with my free hand and headed out of the door, unsurprised to find the woman from earlier outside by my vehicle.
There was something about her that made me uncomfortable, and I despised feeling this way.
“Hey,” she said as I got closer. “Can we talk?”
I ignored her and said, “Back up, please, so I can put her in her seat.”
The woman backed up, and I put her in her seat and started the car up before turning her movie on for her.
She reached for her uneaten pancake from earlier and I gently closed the door before facing the woman.
“You don’t know me.”
“No,” I said. “I don’t.”
She grimaced. “I’m Jackson’s fiancée.”
My brows rose. “You are?”
“Yes.” She hesitated. “Yes, and we want to have a baby.”
Ahh, I knew where this was going.
“You want to have my baby,” I pointed out. “Because his sperm and my eggs were fertilized before they were stored. And I hate to be this person, but I’m not going to give you my eggs. I just won’t.”
Her frown was ferocious. “That’s the only way that I’m going to have a child with him, though!”
I was already shaking my head. “That’s not going to happen. I’m sorry.”
She stomped her foot in frustration. “This is utterly ridiculous.”
“What’s utterly ridiculous is you thinking that I would be okay with this. I’m sorry, but it’s not happening.”
She hissed at me, “We’re going to take this to court.”
“Then take it to court,” I said. “The only thing that I got in the divorce was that. No house. No car. No compensation for him ruining my face. No nothing. That’s the only thing I got, and I’m not giving it up.”
She didn’t like my answer.
I could tell.
But I wasn’t going to budge on this.
There was no way in hell that I was going to let her have my egg that was fertilized by Jackson’s sperm.
Luckily she didn’t push the issue and instead chose to stomp away toward her car—which I noted was my old car.
Jesus fucking Christ.
When we got to Chick-fil-A, because I’m sorry but when a three-year-old demands that for lunch, I’m not going to fight her on it, I texted Gunner to find out where he was at.
He sent me back his location, and I texted back letting him know we’d be there soon.
He met us outside when we pulled into the same school as last time.
