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I plop down on my couch and twirl my phone in my hand, seriously considering listening to the thirteen messages sitting in my inbox. I can only imagine what they will say. If they are anything like the text messages I keep getting, my guess is it will be one “I'm sorry” and “I can explain” after another.
Up to this point, I have managed to resist the urge but now, I just don't know if I can do it. Because if I’m honest with myself, as much as Westin hurt me, I still love him. I still miss him. Him hurting me doesn't make those feelings go away; it just clouds them with anger.
I click on messages from the home screen of my phone and my finger hovers over the voicemail icon for what seems like forever before I take a deep breath and hit the screen.
I don't let out the breath I'm holding until I hear Westin's voice come onto the line. Everything else fades into the background as his words wash over me. All I hear is him. The sweetness of his voice. The desperation. The messages are very much as I expected them to be and one by one, I hit the delete button.
While another piece of my heart peels away with each message I hear, I know that at the end of the day, this is all part of the healing process. I have to find a way to let him go. No matter how much I don't want to.
——
THE NEXT MORNING ISmuch of the same. It takes me forever to peel myself out of bed, and I feel like a zombie as I make my way downstairs to the kitchen. Kari is already in, buzzing around the dining area as she sets up the tables and restocks napkins.
“Hey. You're up early,” she sings, as I step out from behind the counter.
“Please tell me there are things that need baking.” I sigh in exhaustion.
She laughs lightly at me and then skips around the counter. “Mrs. Beasley was asking about the pumpkin muffins again. Maybe you could whip up a batch,” she says, punching some numbers into the cash register before making her way across the dining area and unlocking the door, flipping on the open sign on her way back.
And just like that, our day begins. I spend the morning making the pumpkin muffins, thankful to have something productive to work on, and eventually decide to take a break just after ten. I manage to keep down a piece of banana loaf and a cup of coffee, which makes me feel a hundred times better.
Just as I’m heading back into the kitchen, my cell phone buzzes to life in my apron pocket. Looking at the number, I see it's my doctor’s office and not Westin. Hitting the answer button, I hold the phone between my shoulder and cheek as I start pulling out some eggs to make a batch of cookies.
“Hello. I'm trying to reach Scarlett Ryan.” A friendly voice greets me from the other end of the phone.
“Speaking,” I say, cracking open an egg and dropping the contents into my mixing bowl.
“Miss Ryan. This is Nancy from Dr. Reynolds’ office. I wanted to call and let you know that we got your test results back. Everything came back clear. But I think we found the root of your nausea.”
“Okay...” I drag out, setting down the egg in my hand to properly grip my phone.
“Along with many other tests, we also performed a pregnancy test.” The minute the word leaves her mouth, my heart picks up speed. “Congratulations,” she says, before speaking the words that hold the power to alter my entire existence. “You're going to have a baby.”
