Page 65 of New Growth
“She found out on her own, or you told her?”
His fingers drummed lightly against the table. “I told her. The next day, her wedding ring was on my pillow, and her bags were packed by the time I got home. The divorce papers came a month later in the mail.”
I studied him, searching for any sign of remorse. “Do you regret the decision?”
He shook his head without hesitation. “Not one bit. I regret how I went about it, of course, but I don’t think not having a kid was a bad thing. Diabetes is not always easy to deal with, and I would feel guilty about potentially putting my kid through that. But in regards to my ex, I don’t think we had a bad marriage either. We just didn’t agree on something that wasn’t up for negotiation. That’s why it’s so important to know exactly what you’re getting into when you marry someone.”
I exhaled, nodding. “I hear that.”
The trainee brought our drinks over, setting them down with careful hands before retreating to the counter. I lifted my cup and took a sip, only to pause at the strange aftertaste. Across from me, El frowned into his own drink.
“Your’s taste weird too?” he asked, his dark brows pulling together.
I smacked my lips. “Yup.”
El exhaled, shaking his head. “Lizzie has now started torturing us.”
I let out a soft laugh, setting my cup down with a quiet clink.
El leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking beneath him as his fingers tapped absently against the table.
“What about you, Ellie? You want kids?”
The question caught me mid-thought. I looked up, watching the steam curl off my drink before exhaling slowly.Kids?The thought of me having children has never crossed my mind, not even with Jonathan.
“Let me put it this way. When I was twelve, my aunt went into labor at our house. We couldn’t get to the hospital in time, so she ended up giving birth in the backseat of my Daddy’s truck. With me right next to her.” I shook my head, lips twitching at the memory. “Safe to say, that traumatized me enough to never seriously consider the whole motherhood thing.”
El blinked at me, completely horrified. His nose crinkled as his mouth pulled into a grimace. “Jesus.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at his face.
“And you?” I asked, tilting my head. “Why don’t you really want kids?”
“I told you,” he said, brushing it off.
“I meant besides that.” I leaned forward slightly. “I understand not wanting to potentially pass down the diabetes, but there are other options. Adoption, surrogacy, whatever. But you talk like you never wanted kids, period. Why is that?”
He shrugged, eyes fixed on a scratch in the tabletop.
“Maybe I never did. I knew from a young age that I wanted to be a comic book artist. That dream ate up all my time. Shit, it still does. I wouldn’t know how to split myself between the two. I’d be a shitty father.”
I understood that completely. There were days when I slept in El’evations because I was stressed out about being successful and overworked myself to achieve it. That’s the thing about ambition; it feasted on you. Your time, your energy, hell, even your body belonged to it. You became a slave to it, and the thought of failure closely resembled death. Simply put, I’d rather die than fail.
Not the best trait for a future parent to have. My obsession with success would undoubtedly make me a horrible parent as well. Still, it was fun to tease him.
I arched a brow. “Workaholic.”
A smirk tugged at his lips. “Look who’s talking.”
I chuckled, but the moment the sound left my throat, something felt… off. A slow burn crept down my esophagus, unfamiliar and wrong. I swallowed, but the sensation only worsened, leaving a raw, prickling itch in its wake. Frowning, I rubbed my throat.
“My throat’s on fire.” My voice rasped as I looked up at El. “Can you get me some water?”
His expression shifted, concern slipping into his features. “You alright?”
“Yeah, I’m fine, it’s just…” A thought hit me like a slap to the face.
My breath stilled.
