Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 55860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
I’m self-conscious of the fact that I’m in my robe. No high waist leggings and loose top to cover the belly that’s started to make itself visible in the last couple weeks. It’s not a big obvious bump or anything—I can play it off as too much junk food on my overnight shifts, but it’s noticeable especially if I’m in a robe and nightshirt.
“What about this guy you were dating a while back?”
“The one from the bar. Or Nick from my class?” I say, referring a second time to the imaginary Nick I’ve supposedly gone out with a few times for breakfast.
“I don’t know who the hell Nick is. I’m talking about the bar guy.”
“It was over with that guy weeks ago, why?”
I sit down at the table with my cup of tea, relieved to hide my belly below the edge of the table. I take a sip and set the mug down. I keep my hands still, my face a neutral small smile. I don’t want to look as nervous as I am.
“Just wondered. Can’t a man ask about his daughter’s life?” His artificial laugh is like nails on a chalkboard to me.
My stomach’s in knots. I don’t know how I’m going to misdirect him about who the father is when this baby gets super obvious in a couple months. I make myself count backwards in my head, regain my calm. That’s not a problem for today. I’ll figure it out when the time comes.
I don’t even let myself rest a palm on the curve of my belly beneath the table because even though I find it soothing to connect with my baby that way, it grounds me—but it would draw attention to the bump.
“It was kind of a rough breakup for me. Messy,” I say, and try to leave it at that.
“He was in the Mob wasn’t he?” my dad asks, smiling a little.
“Yeah,” I say. “I didn’t want to get caught up in that kind of life. I’m on my way to finishing my LPN. It’s what I’ve been working toward for a long time. I’m going to be a nurse practitioner, and this is step one. Then RN. Then save some money for a few years and go after my NP. I’m not letting some guy derail me from what I want to do with my life.”
I wait it out and he changes the subject. He talks about a new supervisor at the plant who gets on his nerves, eats the sandwich I make him, and then goes back to work. I take a deep breath, relax now that he’s gone. I decide I should go take a nice, long walk outside. Breathe the fresh air and soak up the sunshine. Stop fretting over my situation which isn’t likely to be improved by worrying all the time.
Once I’m in my leggings and a big comfy t-shirt, hair in a ponytail and a bottle of water in my hand, I’m ready to go.
I’m maybe four blocks from home when a car pulls alongside me and rolls down a window. A guy on the passenger side tries to ask me for directions. I ignore him and keep walking. I’ve watched enough self-defense TikToks to avoid approaching a strange vehicle. The man doesn’t need directions in the age of Google Maps. I can’t imagine he’s hitting on me in my ratty leggings. I just keep moving at a little faster pace, hold up my phone like I’m answering a call and start chatting away at nobody about how I’ll be there to meet them in about two minutes. I’m proud of myself for thinking to fake a call to show I’m expected someplace any minute.
I glance ahead at the cross street for anyplace reasonable I can duck into, a juice bar or coffee shop. I pause and glance over my shoulder to see if they’re still following me. I never saw them drive past so they didn’t speed up—maybe they turned off at the last block or something, I hope. As soon as I look over my left shoulder, I know it was a mistake. That faking a call and ignoring them would never have been enough to save me.
When I see him, I startle and open my mouth to scream. He’s got a rag over my mouth and nose before I can even make a sound. I try to run, to get out of his grip, turn my head, anything. But he lifts me off my feet and drags me to the car, stuffs me in. I don’t know if it’s the back seat or the trunk because I’m so dizzy. Everything looks blotchy. I feel so sick. I try to fight it, but I can’t get a breath without him cramming the cloth in my face.
The last thought I have before I pass out is that I hope the drug they used on me doesn’t hurt the baby.