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I slam down so hard on the steering it starts beeping loudly. I don’t even care. I’ve driven away the woman of my dreams. What’s the point of anything, then? What else is there to live for?
NO.
Hell, no.
Not this time, fate.
I’m not going to accept this. My heart is squeezing so painfully and I know that if I don’t find Charlee, it will squeeze that way forever. This is a type of pain time will not heal. I need her like a drug.
I’m a different man now. I’ve learned so much and I’m working hard to be the right man for her. I’m working on myself.
Whatever it takes, I’ll find Charlee and I’ll win her back.
That’s not even a choice.
It’s theonlything I can do.
29
CHARLEE
“Sweetheart, let me get that for you,” my mom says, getting up to head to the kitchen.
“Nope, I got it. You already made her morning decaf. Let me do something for her too.” My dad is already on his way.
I can’t help my laughter.
“You guys, stop all this fussing about. I’m pregnant, not sick or broken all over. I can handle myself.”
Mom rolls her eyes and comes back to place my feet on her thighs. I‘m lying on the couch, watching TV and feeling as relaxed as ever while my parents fuss over nothing. They are retired and enjoying life, looking for someone to channel all their free time upon, and I just walked in like a pregnant golden goose.
I’m back home with my parents at my childhood home in Latimer, a small county not far from New York City. I called them to tell them about everything before I got home, and my mom cried in a way that broke my heart. She wasn’t crying because I’d gotten pregnant and was moving back home. She was crying because I was dealing with everything on my own and I never told her I was pregnant. I didn’t realize how much that hurt her.
My dad just told me to come home. He said they’d take care of me and stand by me, whatever my decisions would be going forward.
I don’t know the angel that assigned me to this couple in heaven, but I hope they can see how my heart is full with gratitude. My baby will be so lucky to have such amazing grandparents. They don’t judge or condemn me. They welcome me with love and excitement.
“Here you go, princess,” Dad bustles into the living room, his white hair glistening in the glow of the lighting. He hands me my decaf and settles on the chair opposite me, watching as I sip.
"Thanks, Dad.”
Sipping the coffee, I almost spit it out in shock.
“Dad! What kind of coffee is this?! Oh my goodness! It tastes and smells like dust water.” I can’t believe how bitter this thing is. I’m struggling not to throw up.
“It’s a special kind of decaf for pregnant women. Helps with the baby’s brains,” Mom says, patting my feet.
“Oh God! You two are out of control!” Dumping the coffee on the table, I get up from the couch.
“Where are you going, sweetheart?” Mom watches as I pick up my purse.
“To get some decaf cappuccino sachets. I need my fix right now.”
“I’ll drive you,” Dad says, and I know there’s no point in arguing with him.
In ten minutes, we’re at the big department store in town. Dad is waiting in the car while I hurry toward the beverage section. I’m wearing my baggy pants, a sweater, and my rubber duck slides. At least my hair is done nicely, courtesy of Mom’s fussing.
I’m taking my time to search for the cappuccino I love when someone calls my name.
