At my own birthday party, I finally crossed the line I’d been walking for ten years. I slept with Hudson, the boy I’d trailed after since we were in pigtails and grass-stained sneakers. When I woke up, the air in the room felt like ice. He was already dressed, his eyes curdled with a cold, sharp disdain. “That was a cheap move, Jennifer,” he said, his voice flat. “Lower than I thought even you would go.” I looked at the glass of orange juice on the nightstand—the one he’d probably assumed I spiked, even though I hadn’t touched it—and I said nothing. No explanations, no defense. I just waited for him to leave, let the ache in my body settle into my bones, and then I went home. I didn’t call him. I didn’t text him. I cut him out of my life for three straight months. The silence finally broke when his mother dragged him to my front door. “This stubborn boy of mine is finally growing up, Jennifer!” his mom chirped, her face glowing with a pride that made my stomach churn. “He’s getting engaged! You’re the best interior designer in the city—could you do us a huge favor and handle the renovations for their new place? You know his taste better than anyone.” In the kitchen, my hand jerked. Hot soup splashed across my knuckles, stinging, but I didn’t flinch. My mother, oblivious, beamed and patted my arm. “See? I knew you’d wear him down eventually. I always told her, Hudson, that she had nothing going for her but thick skin. Persistence pays off, doesn’t it? You’re a lucky girl, Jennifer.” The air in the room shifted, turning heavy and toxic. Hudson’s face darkened until it was almost unrecognizable. “Jennifer, is this what you’ve been telling people?” he spat, his voice trembling with fury. “Is this how desperate you are? Let me make this clear: even if you lied and said we had a kid together, I wouldn’t marry you.” The silence that followed was deafening. Both mothers froze. His mother was the first to recover, her voice a frantic whisper. “Hudson! What on earth are you saying? Jennifer is a good girl, she would never—stop being such a damn fool!” She swatted at his arm, over and over, trying to beat the cruelty out of him. I chose that moment to set my spoon down. “It’s okay, Mrs. Miller,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady. “But I can’t help with the house.” I instinctively rested a hand on my stomach. “I’m pregnant. Just hit twelve weeks.” I forced a small, polite smile, looking directly at the three people who had spent my entire life defining who I was. “And just so we’re all on the same page—don’t worry, Hudson. It’s not yours.” … The words landed like a physical blow. Hudson lunged forward, kicking a dining chair so hard it toppled over with a bone-jarring crack. He looked like he wanted to break something else. “Are you kidding me?” he snarled. “You’re choosing now to play this kind of game?” Under my mother’s horrified gaze, I pulled a bowl of chicken soup toward me and sat down. I looked at his explosive rage and felt… nothing. Just a dull, echoing hollow. “No games,” I said. “I’m pregnant. And it’s definitely not yours.” I tilted my head, offering a dry, apologetic smile. “I only found out a few days ago. I was going to tell my mom tonight, but since you’re here… sorry, Mrs. Miller. You’ll have to find another designer.” I looked at my mother. “I asked you to get that organic chicken today because I needed the nutrients. The doctor said the baby’s a little underweight.” The room turned into a vacuum. My mother’s eyes brimmed with tears; she looked like she’d been struck dumb. Sensing the disaster, Hudson’s mother grabbed his arm and practically hauled him toward the door. Before he disappeared, Hudson looked back, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Even if it were true,” he bit out, “I’d never acknowledge it.” The moment the front door slammed, my mother found her voice. She slammed her hand on the table. “I know you’ve been obsessed with that boy for a decade, but this? To lie about your reputation just because he’s marrying someone else? You haven’t even gone on a date in years, Jennifer! Where would a baby even come from?” I reached into my pocket, pulled out the sonogram, and slid it across the table. The words Twelve Weeks Gestation stared back at her. She closed her eyes, her breath hitching. Then, a thought struck her, and she grabbed my wrist. “He said… he said even if it were true, he wouldn’t acknowledge it. Jennifer, did something happen? Is it his?” I took a sip of the soup. It tasted like ash. “Mom, how many times do I have to say it? It’s not Hudson’s.” Her hands started to shake. “Then who? Who is the father? I’m not against you dating, Jennifer—you’re nearly thirty! Every time I tried to set you up, you refused. I thought you were heart-set on Hudson Miller until the day you died. And now…” She lowered her voice, looking around as if the walls had ears. “Now you’ve gone and gotten yourself a fatherless child.” A wave of nausea hit me. I stood up and dumped the rest of the soup down the drain. She kept rambling, her voice rising in pitch, until I finally turned around. “The father knows. He’s excited. He’s taking care of it.” She followed me into the hallway. “Taking care of it? How? Men say that until the diapers need changing, and then they disappear!” My mind flickered to a certain someone. When I’d told him, he hadn’t flinched. He’d immediately wired me more money than I’d ever seen in my savings account and sent over a list of the best pediatricians in the state. Compared to Hudson, he was a giant among men. “Don’t worry, Mom. I’m not a little girl anymore. I’m going to work.” I grabbed my bag and headed for the garage. When I got to my car, I found Hudson’s black SUV blocking the driveway entirely. I reached into my purse for the spare key he’d given me years ago, intending to move it myself. Then I remembered—the day of our ‘cold war,’ he’d demanded it back. I hesitated, then pulled out my phone. I scrolled to the very bottom of my contacts. Can you move your car? I’m going to be late for work. A red exclamation mark appeared instantly. Message not delivered. He’d blocked me. I went to his Instagram. His profile picture, which had been a silhouette of Kobe Bryant for years, was now a high-definition shot of two hands intertwined. An engagement announcement. I closed the app with a bitter laugh. Of course. He took the keys, and he took the bridge. As I turned to head back inside to call a ride, my foot caught on something. I stumbled, gripping the side mirror to keep from falling. The ground was littered with things. My things. Items I’d left in his car over the years. The vintage denim jacket I’d given him on a freezing December night. The handcrafted lucky charm I’d hiked five miles up a mountain trail to get blessed for him. A small, carefully stocked first-aid kit I’d tucked into his glovebox because he was always so reckless. And then the scraps. A stray lipstick. A single false eyelash. A hair tie. In his eyes, I was worthless, so my belongings were trash. I looked through the passenger window of his SUV. The seat was different. It was covered in a soft, plush pink fabric with a designer bear keychain dangling from the mirror. A matching steering wheel cover sat in the front. I remembered trying to put a tiny, hand-carved wooden bird on his dash once. He’d thrown it out the window before we even left the driveway. “If people see this, they’ll think I’m actually dating someone,” he’d said. My eyes stung. So, this was what it looked like when he actually cared about the ‘someone’ in the seat. I gathered the items from the pavement and dumped them into the trash bin at the curb. Then I called an Uber. I’d just sat down in the back seat when my best friend, Cassie, called, her voice a frantic squawk. “Jennifer! Hudson is getting engaged! Please tell me you’re okay.” “I’m fine, Cass. I already know.” “You saw the post? We’re all losing it! He never posts anything, and then he drops five photo dumps in one hour! We all thought the bride was you, but it’s—” “Cass,” I interrupted, staring out the window at the passing trees. “Want to hear something even bigger?” “What?” A soft, genuine warmth spread through my chest. “I’m pregnant. You’re going to be a godmother.” “What?!” “Twelve weeks. It’s real.” I snapped a photo of the sonogram and sent it. I could hear her starting to cry on the other end. “Oh my god, Jennifer. I thought you were going to spend your whole life banging your head against the brick wall that is Hudson Miller. I was literally calling to tell you to give up on him. But you… you moved on! You actually did it! This is amazing!” She paused, her voice turning conspiratorial. “Okay, spill. Who’s the dad?” “Not yet,” I teased. “He’s away for work. When he’s back in a few days, you’ll be the first person to meet him.” We hung up after a long talk about baby names and nursery themes. A few minutes after I got to my desk at the firm, I saw Cassie had posted on her story. Thank the universe! My bestie is pregnant! I’m going to be an auntie! I was about to text her to keep it low-profile when I saw a comment from Hudson. He must have been stalking her page. ? You’re in on this act too? he wrote. Cassie clapped back instantly: Don’t talk to people with kids until you have some of your own, sweetie. Are you blind, or can you just not read a hospital seal? The knot of tension in my chest loosened slightly. I hummed to myself as I worked through the afternoon. Later, I took a photo of the bouquet of lilies that had been delivered to my office—a ‘thinking of you’ gift from the baby’s father—and posted it to my own feed. It’s nice to be cared for. Hudson’s reply came within seconds: Is self-delusion an Olympic sport now? Stop telling people I sent those. He really thought he was the only man in the world who would ever look at me. I didn’t bother replying. When I walked out to the curb after work, a familiar black SUV pulled up. The window rolled down to reveal Hudson’s scowling face. “Get in.” I didn’t move. “I have a ride coming.” “I’m not asking, Jennifer. Get in the car.” I sighed, canceled my ride, and walked toward the car. Habit made me reach for the passenger door, but his sharp look reminded me of the pink seat covers. I walked to the back and climbed into the rear seat. Hudson drove like a maniac. The wind whipped through the cracked windows, stinging my face. At a red light, he habitually reached for a cigarette, glanced at my flat stomach in the rearview mirror, and then shoved the pack back into the console with a curse. “You can’t keep this,” he said, his voice low. “I’ll pay for whatever you need. I’ll make it right. But I won’t be responsible for a child’s entire future because of one mistake.” I placed a hand over my belly. “You’re acting like I forced you that night. Let me be clear one more time: I don’t want anything from you. The baby isn’t yours.” Hudson slammed his hand against the steering wheel, the horn blaring. “Stop it! Just stop the act! I don’t think you’re so incredibly charming that some other guy just happened to sweep you off your feet the second I looked away.” He caught my eye in the mirror, his gaze dripping with mockery. The glass reflected my tired, pale face. I didn’t argue. Hudson had always been the ‘Golden Boy.’ Tall, athletic, effortlessly brilliant. Girls had lined up for him since middle school. I was just the girl next door—the plain, reliable shadow. I was so ‘non-threatening’ that the girls used to give me their love letters to pass to him. I remembered the first time I did it. He’d looked at me with genuine confusion. “Why are you giving me this? I don’t like you, Jennifer. Don’t get ideas.” I’d adjusted my thick glasses and said, “It’s not from me. It’s from Sarah.” “Good,” he’d sighed. “Let’s keep it that way. You’re like a sister to me. No—you’re basically genderless.” That had stung, but I’d followed him anyway. Through high school, into college. I’d watched him on the court, sweat glistening on his skin in the sunset, looking like something out of a movie. I’d tried to change for him. I’d ditched the glasses, tried on makeup that made me look like a clown, and wore dresses that felt like costumes. “You look ridiculous,” he’d said, laughing. I’d even tanked my college applications to follow him to a school in the same city. I’d played the ‘Best Friend’ role perfectly, hiding my heart behind a wall of jokes and drunken dares. Then came the birthday party three months ago. I’d gone out to get him some cold medicine—he’d been feeling under the weather—and when I came back to the hotel suite, I heard them talking. “So, Hudson,” one of his friends asked. “Is Jennifer going to pull her usual ‘confession’ move tonight? It’s been, what, ten thousand times now?” Hudson’s voice was light, amused. “Let her hint all she wants. I just play dumb. Honestly, she’s useless as a girlfriend, but she’s the best personal assistant a guy could ask for.” I hadn’t opened the door. That was the night I finally stopped trying. Ironically, it was also the night he’d cornered me as the party wound down, acting weirdly possessive, demanding to know why I was being so quiet. He’d taken me back to his room, acting like he had something to prove. And then, the morning after. The disgust. The silence. The car jerked to a stop in my apartment’s underground garage. I took a breath. I decided, once and for all, to tell him the truth about that night. “Hudson, about that night… nothing actually—” His phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, and his entire demeanor shifted. “Isabelle, don’t worry. I’m coming right now. Just stay there.” He didn’t even look at me. He threw the car into park and sprinted for the elevator without a second thought. He left me sitting in the back seat, the child-lock on, trapped in the dark. Isabelle. The one that got away. The high school senior who had been the only girl to ever tell Hudson Miller ‘no.’ I sat there for an hour, then two. I realized he wasn’t coming back. Why would he? His muse was home. Why would he care about the girl who was ‘genderless’? I thought about calling Cassie. I thought about the drama it would cause. Then I felt a wave of dizziness. The air in the garage was thin, and my blood sugar was crashing. The world went black. I woke up to the smell of antiseptic and the glare of fluorescent lights. A muffled argument was happening nearby. Hudson’s mother was screaming at him. “Are you insane? You knew she was pregnant, and you left her locked in a car overnight? If anything happens to that baby, Hudson, I swear to God—” My mother was there too, her voice trembling. “It’s fine, Mary. She’s awake. The doctor said she’s just dehydrated.” I coughed, and the room went silent. My mother rushed to the bedside. “Jennifer, honey, thank God. The doctor said the baby is stable, but you have to be careful. No more stress, okay?” She was glaring at Hudson over her shoulder. Hudson’s mother looked mortified. “I am so sorry, Jennifer. I won’t let this idiot near you again.” It sounded almost like a threat—as if I were the one stalking him. I turned my head away, but Hudson stepped forward. He looked haggard. He tried to press a cup of soup to my lips. “Drink this. You need the nutrients.” I pressed my lips thin, refusing to take a sip. He snapped. He slammed the bowl onto the nightstand, splashing broth everywhere. “Drink it! If something happens to the kid, you aren’t going to blame me!” I actually laughed. It was a weak, jagged sound. “You spent all day telling me the kid wasn’t yours and that I should get rid of it. Now you’re playing the devoted father? Pick a lane, Hudson.” Hudson’s mother’s face shifted. She looked at me with a new, colder curiosity. “The baby has a father,” I said firmly. “And it’s not you.” Hudson’s jaw tightened. “Fine. You’re in the first trimester; I’ll play along. I bought all the stuff the internet said you’d need. It’s in the corner. Take care of yourself.” I looked at the mountain of baby gear piled by the door—strollers, monitors, designer clothes. He still didn’t get it. I was about to explain exactly who the father was when the door opened. A tall, elegant woman walked in. The room seemed to brighten just by her presence. Hudson immediately stood up, his anger vanishing as if it had never existed. “Isabelle? What are you doing here? I told you I was just visiting a friend.” Isabelle smiled—that same effortless, polished smile from years ago. “I heard your old friend was in the hospital. We met once or twice back in the day, didn’t we, Jennifer? I thought I’d bring some flowers.” I smiled back. “That’s very kind of you, Isabelle.” She looked at the pile of baby gear. “Oh, I didn’t realize. I’ll have to get a gift later.” Hudson jumped in, his voice hurried. “I just picked this stuff up because she asked me to. It was just an errand. Don’t worry about it.” His mother chimed in, “Exactly! Hudson is just helpful to a fault. Don’t read into it, Isabelle.” Isabelle gave him a playful, possessive look. Hudson melted, his voice dropping to a soft, coaxing tone. “I’ll make it up to you. I just didn’t want to interrupt your practice.” Watching them, I remembered the day they met. I’d been at the courts with Hudson, and he’d been making fun of my backhand. Then he saw her through the window of the music hall, practicing the cello. It was instantaneous. He spent years chasing her. When she moved to Europe for her master’s, he was devastated. Now that she was back, he was folding like a house of cards. I couldn’t even be mad. He was finally getting what he wanted. A week later, the news of my pregnancy had leaked into our old high school group chat. Someone suggested a reunion. “Double celebration! Jennifer is having a baby, and Hudson is marrying a goddess. We have to get together!” I didn’t respond. I knew they just wanted to see the wreckage. Cassie wanted to flame them all, but I stopped her. “It’s just a dinner, Cass. I can handle it.” When we walked into the private room at the restaurant, the air was thick with whispered gossip. Hudson was there with Isabelle, looking like the king and queen of the prom. I sat in the corner, eating fruit and ignoring the pointed stares. People eventually got bored of trying to get a rise out of me and started reminiscing. “Hey, remember that kid who moved away in tenth grade?” someone asked. “The one who used to follow Jennifer around? What was his name?” “Oh! Nate! The chubby kid!” someone laughed. “Nate Joseph! Didn’t he ask Jennifer out and then cry when she said no? Poor guy. His family moved to London or something because they realized he was a lost cause.” The table erupted in laughter. I stayed silent. Hudson frowned, surprisingly. “Is it really necessary to pick on a guy who isn’t even here? And Jennifer… she’s pregnant. Show some respect.” He looked at me, his eyes full of a strange, lingering guilt. I shrugged. “It’s fine. I actually think you’d all be interested in meeting my husband. He’s on his way.” The room went dead silent. A second later, the door opened. A man in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit walked in. He was striking—strong jaw, piercing eyes, and an aura of calm, understated power. He walked straight to me and kissed my forehead. “Sorry I’m late, sweetheart.” Hudson’s spoon hit his plate with a loud clatter.
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