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“Harlow,” Sam begins again, but I don’t let him speak.
I scream, hardly hearing what words are coming out of my mouth because I am beyond livid. “I can’t believe you! You’re no better than those doctors who secretly fertilize women’s eggs with their own sperm so all the babies can be theirs! Maybe I should report you to the medical boards or something because you’re just like them, breaking your oath to do no harm. No, you know what? You’re worse! You’ve committed a heinous crime because we had a relationship built on trust and communication and love. But I will never trust you again!” I shriek before leaping up to my feet. I probably look like a crazy woman with wild eyes and my hair standing on end, but I don’t care. There are more important things at issue right now.
Sam touches my arm, but I immediately jerk it from his grasp.
“Don’t you dare touch me!” I hiss, my voice like ice now. “You’re a fucking liar!”
But Sam refuses to back down. He doesn’t try to touch me again, but he stands too now, determined to be heard. “Harlow, I am not as bad as those men. What I did—and I will never be able to apologize enough—was because I was stupid. I was an idiot, and I didn’t think.”
I glare at Sam, my heart tearing in two. “No, you didn’t think,” I spit like a cat on a hot tin roof.
But Sam presses on. “But no matter what you feel now, I promise you that it was from a place of love. I adore everything about you, honey—your fire, your passion, and your energy. I can’t explain it, but I knew that I would do anything to see my baby—our baby—grow in your belly.”
Is this guy insane? He just handed me the biggest betrayal of all time, and he expects me to swallow it like it was no big deal? He wants us to have a life together?
“Your promises mean nothing to me!” I hiss again, my eyes shooting flames. “And to think that I loved you when you’re nothing but a cheat and a liar!”
Sam stands in front of me, unmoving and unspeaking. There’s a deep look of regret on his face, but I don’t care. What the hell? He can stew in his own shit because I want no part of this. Without another word, I turn and stalk away, not looking over my shoulder until I’m back in my bedroom. Then I slam the door for emphasis, but there’s no sound from downstairs. Fuck him.
But what am I going to do now? I’m pregnant with a child by a man who basically tricked me. Who does that? My entire life has come crashing down and suddenly, I realize I don’t know anything anymore.
12
Harlow
“I’m sorry it’s so cold in here. The stupid windows are single pane,” Ramona apologizes while handing me a cup of warm tea. I take it, and look up at her gratefully.
“Thanks, girl,” I murmur quietly. “I appreciate it so much.”
She throws me an encouraging smile.
“It’s chamomile and honey,” she tells me. “So there’s no caffeine or anything.”
I nod, blowing on the hot liquid as steam whirls around, and then let out a sigh. It’s been a little over a week since the fight with Sam, and I haven’t seen him since then because I moved out of the townhouse. I know that I literally own the building, but I couldn’t spend another night there. As a result, I showed up at Ramona’s place, and she opened both her heart and her home to me.
I glance around her rather run-down apartment. It’s a very small one bedroom, with dirty windows and cracked window panes. The furniture is rickety, and the neighborhood at night can be loud. But despite these structural issues, it’s clear that Ramona takes care of her home, and the apartment’s welcoming and homey despite its obvious faults. The floors and counters are immaculately clean, and my buddy’s painted the walls a cheery yellow, and decorated with matching throw-pillows and airy white curtains. Ramona also happens to be quite the cook, so there’s always something delicious-smelling wafting from the oven.
“Muffins coming right up,” she pipes cheerfully.
“Yum,” I say. “Cranberry ones?”
“Yep,” she burbles, peering into the oven. “With just a hint of orange too, so I hope your pregnant self enjoys them.”
I laugh.
“The baby will love them, I’m sure.”
But then, my eyes well up with tears out of nowhere. This has been a problem lately because I’ve been uber-emotional and prone to wild fits of crying at the most inopportune times. I look at my friend pathetically as my lower lip trembles. “What am I going to do, Ramona?” I ask in a quiet voice. “I’m still so scared.”
Like the sweet person that she is, Ramona immediately sits down next to me on the worn couch and pulls me into a firm hug. “You’re going to take a minute and breathe, and then we’re going to sort through this all,” she says in a firm voice.
