I’ve always wanted kids. Hell, I always saw myself having kids with her.
And even though technically I’m the father of her child, it’s not going to look like anything I let my younger self imagine.
We won’t hold hands and stroll through the park, watching our child play. We won’t buy our kid a puppy so we can watch them grow up together. We won’t take vacations to Disney World just to see the joy on our son or daughter’s face.
Our reality will never look like that. It’s going to look like formal custody drop-offs where our child is happy to see one of us and yet sad at the same time that they have to say goodbye to the other.
“You have to be excited,” Anders says as he hands me a bottle of beer. “Fatherhood is amazing.”
Doesn’t he realize how many things I’m going to miss?
I may not be in the room when my child is born. If Jules wants to push her rights as a mother, she may keep me far away from that situation. I could miss first words and steps. I could miss the scrunch of the child’s little nose when they try peas for the first time. I may have to stand on the sidelines the first time they get sick, despite wanting to be there to wipe their runny nose or rub their upset tummy.
“I said I’m not talking about—”
“Jules,” Anders interrupts. “I’m talking about your child, man, not its mother.”
I watch his face, wondering if that’s the distance Jules was worried about.
Its mother.
Two words that disassociate her from the situation.
I’m annoyed by it, and honestly a little angry.
“She’s—”
“We’re not talking about her, remember?” Anders winks at me as if he’s caught me slipping, as if my interrupted attempt to defend her proves some kind of point.
“Fuck off,” I grumble.
My brother chuckles as he stands up, his hand clapping me on the back in a way that makes me feel like regardless of what I’m feeling now, he’s certain everything will work out the way it should.
“Let’s go eat,” he says as he heads in the direction of the dining room.
Mom’s eyes are still red, and I can tell that she’s been wiping them, but I don’t say a word. She can’t fix this with a conversation. She can’t wipe away my feelings with a paper towel and a little antiseptic like she did for scraped knees as a child. This is an adult situation, with grown-up consequences.
This is the rest of my life.
This is me loving a woman I don’t trust because she kept the biggest secret imaginable from me.
Hell, she even tried to completely deny me my child by trying to convince everyone, including me, that Brooks was the father.
I thought I was over that part of the circumstances, but apparently, I’m not.
Dinner is a little quieter than normal, but no one brings up Jules for the remainder of the evening. Conversation is stilted, and I can feel many sets of eyes on me when I lower my head each time I take a bite.
I can feel their disappointment in me.
Me!
As if I’m the one who got pregnant on purpose and then every word out of my mouth after was a lie.
I guess in the end, Jules was right.
They were going to be pissed, just not at her.
Chapter 32
Jules
Heartbreak is such a weird thing when its circumstance is something you created on your own.
I’m hurting, but at the same time, I don’t feel like I have a right to those feelings.
It doesn’t stop them.
It doesn’t make them any less powerful and debilitating.
I thought my days of sobbing on the couch were over, but it’s been nothing but radio silence from Kit since he found the ovulation kit and Clomid packet in my bathroom.
I no longer get the morning and evening texts, and he’s ignored every single text I’ve sent since he stormed out of here. I guess I should be surprised they aren’t coming back undeliverable, meaning he hasn’t blocked me yet. Well, not completely because the man has all but cut me from his life.
I didn’t realize just how much I’ve grown to need him around, not just for his physical help, but for my emotional wellness. He made me smile and laugh. He comforted me when I didn’t feel well. He always managed to brighten my day with a simple look. I let myself depend on him, to expect things from him, and now he’s just gone.
I don’t bother to get off the sofa when someone knocks at my door.
I don’t want to see or speak to anyone, and I know there’s no chance it’s Kit. He said what he needed to say and now that I’ve complied with his demands, he’s justified to never look at me again until the baby is born.