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She straightened, took a deep breath and wiped her eyes. ‘I hope, kid,’ she muttered, ‘that you favour my side of the family.’
By the time she returned to the café she thought she’d got herself more or less under control, although she obviously didn’t fool Violet. The other woman raised her eyebrows as Zoe came in, handing a coffee to a customer.
‘So that didn’t go well,’ she said as Zoe came behind the counter and reached for her apron. She just shrugged in response.
‘Let me guess,’ Violet said after they’d dealt with the latest trickle of customers and the café was mostly empty. ‘That was the father.’ Zoe nodded. Violet waited a few seconds. ‘And?’
Another shrug. ‘He’s not thrilled.’
‘We’re talking serious understatement here, right?’
‘Maybe.’ Zoe took a breath and tried to banish the sight of Aaron’s cold, autocratic expression as he’d offered her fifty thousand dollars. ‘To be fair, it had to have been a huge shock.’
‘To you, too.’
‘Yes, but even so—’ She stopped and shook her head. Why on earth was she defending Aaron to Violet, or to anyone? Why did she insist on believing the best about guys who didn’t deserve it? And Aaron Bryant most definitely didn’t deserve it. He was a cold-hearted bastard and she wouldn’t give him one iota of her compassion or understanding.
And yet he was her baby’s father. They were linked, fundamentally and forever, no matter what his actions. That counted for something, whether she wanted it to or not. She let out a long, slow breath and turned to Violet. ‘Anyway, it doesn’t matter. He’s not going to be involved.’
Violet frowned. ‘You’re going to raise this kid on your own?’
Zoe heard the scepticism in her friend’s voice and bit her lip. She thought of Aaron’s scathing indictment: your life is hardly set up for a baby. No, it wasn’t. She lived on a shoestring budget and her savings were virtually nil. Her apartment wasn’t suitable for a baby, no matter what she’d told Aaron. She knew she could ask for help from her parents, or Millie and Chase, but the thought of their disappointment and censure—no matter if it was unspoken—made her cringe. Millie was the one who had got married, had a real job and lived an exemplary life. Zoe was the screw-up.
‘Hey, Zo.’ Violet put a hand on her shoulder. ‘You know I’ll help you, right? And so will lots of people, I’m sure. You can do this.’
Zoe blinked back sudden tears. Pregnancy hormones were clearly making her stupidly emotional. And while she appreciated Violet’s offer, she wondered how much help a broke part-time college student could really give her…compared to how much she needed.
Two days later the morning sickness really hit and Zoe went from feeling a little nauseous to barely being able to get out of bed. She dragged herself to work and back again, and the rest of the time she curled up on her sofa and nibbled dry crackers, feeling utterly miserable. She thought about calling Millie, just to have someone to share this with. She knew she’d have to tell her sister as well as her parents some time, but for the moment she couldn’t bring herself to admit her dire state of affairs. I’m pregnant by your brother-in-law and he has no interest in this baby. He offered me fifty thousand dollars to get rid of it. It was all just too, too awful.
And then one day it all changed. She went to the ladies’ during a break at the café and there was blood in her underwear. Zoe stared at that single rusty streak in disbelief. Could she actually be having a miscarriage? After all she’d endured already, to have it end before it had even begun?
Tears pricked her eyes and her heart lurched. she realised in that moment just how much she wanted this child, despite the awful nausea and Aaron’s horrible rejection.
‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost,’ Violet said when she came back into the café. ‘What’s going on?’
Numbly Zoe told her. ‘You should see a doctor,’ Violet said firmly.
‘Can they even do anything at this stage?’
‘I don’t know, but do you want to take that chance? And it might give you some peace of mind.’ She paused and added somberly, ‘Either way.’
Duly Zoe picked an obstetrician from the internet—she had no friends who could recommend one—and made an appointment for that afternoon.
The OB, Dr Stephens, was a brisk grey-haired woman with a practical but friendly manner. ‘Bleeding in early pregnancy can be perfectly normal,’ she told her. ‘But it also can indicate miscarriage. There’s really no telling at this point. If you experience more bleeding, with any accompanying cramping, then you should come back.’
Zoe nodded dully. ‘And is there anything I can do?’
‘Nature generally takes its course at this point,’ Dr Stephens told her gently. ‘But of course staying off your feet and resting as much as possible couldn’t hurt.’
Of course. Yet both of those were virtually impossible with her work.
As she walked back to her apartment, Zoe felt even worse. Going to the doctor hadn’t reassured her; it had only made her aware of all the uncertainties, the impossibilities. She was only seven weeks’ pregnant and already it was so unbearably hard…and lonely.
She sniffed, then took a deep breath. ‘Pull yourself together,’ she told herself as she unlocked the door to her building and kicked aside the drift of takeaway menus that always littered the floor. ‘You can do this. You’re strong. You’ve survived a lot.’
She thought of Tim and how devastated she’d felt then. Nothing, obviously, compared to what Millie had been going through at the same time, with the loss of her husband and daughter. Yet the aching loneliness of his betrayal and her inability to tell anyone reminded her of how she’d endured it; she’d got through, got stronger.
She could do this.
She headed up the five narrow flights of stairs to her tiny shoebox of an apartment; each step felt like a burden. How would she manage these stairs when she was nine months’ pregnant? Or with a pram? And what would she do for childcare, for money?
Oh, God, what she was doing? She reached the top of the stairs and pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, willing the tears to recede. She’d never cried so much in her life before.
‘Zoe.’
She dropped her hands, shock icing through her, freezing her to the floor. Aaron stood in front of her door.
She looked terrible, Aaron thought. Her face was pale and gaunt, her hair stringy. And, even more alarmingly, she seemed near to tears, which he’d never seen before. He’d thought of her as strong, invincible, yet now she looked like she needed protecting. He felt a surge of concern, an unfamiliar emotion, and he took a step towards her.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Clearly not,’ she answered tautly. ‘But why do you care?’ Without another word she pushed past him and unlocked the door to her apartment.
Aaron stood there, feeling weirdly and horribly uncertain. He hated doubt, hated how it crept inside him and poisoned everything he believed and knew. He hated feeling it now, and with it another rush of guilt for the way he’d acted. Of course Zoe didn’t want to see or talk to him. He’d asked her—he’d offered to pay her—to get rid of their child. It had been an impulse born of desperation, but there was no going back from it. No forgetting, and perhaps no forgiving.
He’d realised that as soon as he’d seen the look of horror and shock on her face and knew he was its cause. He’d known what he’d done was unforgivable and he’d felt a sudden, cringing shame. Was he going to let his own fear control him that much? Was he going to be that weak, that cruel?
Now he stood in the doorway of Zoe’s apartment and watched as she shrugged off her coat. She tossed it onto a chair and it slithered onto the floor. Her shoulders slumped.
‘May I come in?’
‘Why?’ She straightened, tension radiating through her lithe body.
‘I want to talk to you.’
‘If you’re going to try to strong arm me into—’
‘I’m not.’ Aaron cut her off. ‘That was—that was a bad idea.’
She laughed dryly, the sound without humour. ‘Quite a confession, coming from you.’
‘May I come in?’
She shrugged wearily and turned to face him. ‘Fine.’
Aaron stepped into the apartment, blinking in the gloom until Zoe switched on a light. The place was tiny, just one rectangle of a room with a bed, a sofa, a dresser and a tiny kitchen in the corner.
‘I’m sure,’ Zoe said dryly, ‘it horrifies you to realise people live like this.’
He glanced at her, saw her eyes sparking with some of her old fire, a sardonic smile on her lips. ‘“Horrifies” might be too strong a word.’
‘This is actually quite a nice apartment,’ she informed him. ‘According to some of my friends. At least I don’t have to share.’
He stepped over some pyjamas that had been left on the floor and returned her coat to the chair. ‘I can’t imagine sharing a place this size.’
She watched him for a moment, her face without expression. ‘What do you want, Aaron?’ She spoke flatly, the fire gone.
