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Yesterday, we drove to work as we have been doing since two days after he brought me to my house that first morning. Normally, I am able to find some excuse, a reason not to go up with him. Luckily we park in a private garage, so no one sees me get out of his car, but that is where the privacy stops. Once we are out of the car, everyone can see everything.

So, I tried to get him to let me go up after him, and he pouted like the most adorable, big kid ever. It was so stinking cute that I giggled before the snotty chick in circulation gave me the stink eye. When I told him people will think something is going on between us, he looked at me, smiled, and said, “There is something going on, precious. Now let’s go up before we are both late.” Then he winked at me, and that was the end of the conversation.

I tried bringing up the baby, the situation, anything to elicit a conversation, but he either shuts me up with a chaste yet hot kiss or shrugs, tells me to get used to it and changes the subject. I found it endearing for a few days, recognizing he was trying not to stress me out, but now, as I watch a baby bed being carried into the house, it is getting out of hand. “Don’t you just love it?” he says, walking into the room I am assuming is supposed to be the temporary nursery.

“Well, it is definitely something,” I mumble under my breath. Once the delivery guys leave, I storm into the bedroom. “What the hell is going on, Sam?” he stands up, mouth open, shocked at the curse word leaving my mouth.

“Scarlett, what’s wrong?”

“I want to know what all of this is. Why is my stuff here? Why are you buying baby things, and having them delivered here like I am not leaving? Why won’t you let me sleep in the guest room? I mean I could see if there was something going on with us, but I have been in your bed for a week, and other than a few kisses, nothing has happened. I mean God, you are driving me crazy. You're being so sweet and caring and even jealous and protective, but when I try to talk to you about it, you change the subject. Hell, you won’t even mention the baby, but your buying cribs? Samuel, I need to know what is happening.” His hands are in his pocket, and he is looking at me like I am crazy. I can understand it. I certainly feel like I am crazy.

“I…” He stops and swallows, visibly unsure what to say. His eyes become soft, and I swear in them, I see something that looks like pity, and it pierces me. It slides through my gut, cutting me open from the inside out. I am nuts. I have allowed all of this to happen, secretly praying he was feeling a fraction of what I am. Letting myself believe that he could want a pregnant woman who got knocked up in a one-night stand.

I have been resisting myself this entire time, reminding myself this was nothing and that he felt only pity, but every time my mind would win, he would call me ‘precious’ or kiss me. Carry me somewhere, whisper something teasing in my ear, anything, and my heart would take over the war. But I finally see the pity on his face, and I can’t ignore it anymore. “Oh my god. Do you feel sorry for me? Is that it? You think I need someone to take care of me and this baby? Well newsflash, I am probably not keeping it, so I don’t need you, your cribs, your kisses or your pity.” Turning from him before the tears begin to fall, I run to his bedroom, the room he has been making me sleep in since I got here, and start ripping clothes from the closet.

I make quick work of grabbing the clothes I owned before he started pity purchasing on my behalf, the entire time leaking shame and embarrassment in the path of my feet. Making sure to pull the adoption papers I had a lawyer Hope knows, draw up for me so that if it is the decision I choose, everything is in place. I place it in my work bag and throw it over my shoulder.

I can’t help but stop and look around this room I have come to love. It has only been a week, but I have felt protected in this space and loved in this space. Well, I thought it was love, but now I know the truth. Deciding that everything else can just stay, especially since I don’t know what I am going to do now. I mean, there is no way I can go back to work for him, right? Feeling defeated and alone once again, I grab the one bag I was able to fit my clothes into and walk toward the bedroom door. Hand on the knob, I take a deep breath, ready to face him when the door comes flying open. Luckily I move fast enough, so it misses my face.

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