I turn around. “Would you like the nursery here?”
He studies me for a moment. “Is that what you’re really thinking?”
“Now you’re a mind reader?” I say, the tone sharper than I intended.
“I don’t need to be a mind reader to know you would sell your kidney for a ticket out of here.”
“Would we be here if I weren’t pregnant?” I blurt out.
“I hope we would. But I guess we will never know.” He kisses my forehead.
“How much is it anyway?” It’s not the most pressing problem here. But still, itisa problem. I can’t currently afford it.
“I’m sure we can figure out a loan.” He squeezes my hand.
He doesn’t offer to pay for it, though I’m sure he wants to. But he only makes a move I’m willing to accept. Damn him.
“Do you want to bail?” he asks, smirking.
From apartment hunting, or from this relationship? In both cases, my answer is no. And yet I can’t say it.
“Are you trying to use my natural competitiveness against me?” I keep things light. Inconsequential. Safe.
Though safe doesn’t feel right lately.
“Never,” he deadpans.
“Let’s move on.” I push him away and march out ofthe apartment, the agent’s heels and panting echoing as she tries to keep up.
We need an apartment. We need a nursery. I’ve barely come to terms with the fact that I’m going to be a mother. And now I have to pretend to be a wife.
Liam promised the marriage is fake, but it’s not for him. And as much as I try to protect myself, it isn’t for me.
It doesn’t feel real either.
The next apartment has a large kitchen and a terrace.
Liam is inspecting the appliances and the cabinets. “This kitchen is fantastic.”
“I don’t cook,” I snap. I don’t even know why.
He chuckles. “I’ve noticed.”
I step outside, drawn by the quiet. I should enjoy this. Instead, I’m restless. Irritated.
Mostly with myself.
A few months ago, I was fighting for something entirely different. I was proving I belonged at Merged, carving out a career that was mine alone. I was untangling myself from my family’s expectations.
I had a plan. It was deliberate. Independent. Earned.
None of this was part of it. I want this baby. Liam has shown up in ways I didn’t know how to ask for. Steady. Present. Certain.
And still, something inside me aches. Not because I regret them, but because I’m grieving the version of my life I thought I would have.
The climb. The late nights. The independence that felt like oxygen.
That grief sparks immediate guilt. This baby isn’t a mistake. This relationship… well, I hope it isn’t a mistake.
