Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 93425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
“Emma, what happened?” He doesn’t acknowledge the police officer or that we’re in the precinct. It’s not like I can say anything right now, not until we’re in private. I shuffle uncomfortably while the police officer steps forward.
“Hello sir, you can take her. We won’t be pressing any charges. We couldn’t say that in front of Mrs. McGee or we would never hear the end of it. Maybe stay clear of the store for a bit?”
I nod my head in agreement. While I should feel overcome with relief, all I can feel is dread. Without charges, the only thing I had to distract my father from was the reason he got called down is gone.
The cop disappears into the back, leaving us alone. My dad escorts me out to the car, and once we're away from prying ears, I know I can't keep it from him.
“Emma. What happened?”
“I didn’t steal anything. I was going to pay for it after I got out of the bathroom,” I tell him.
“What did you take that needed to go into the bathroom with you that was so urgent? Was it tampons? I thought I bought some for you a couple of weeks ago,” he rambles. Emotion clogs up in my throat. I’ve never been one to disappoint my father. I don’t know what this news is going to do for our relationship.
“It was a pregnancy test.”
The car is silent for a few moments. I don’t look over at him, though I know he’s staring at me.
“And it was positive. I’m pregnant.”
“Emma…”
“And I’m keeping it, Dad. I didn’t know before I took the test, but I know now.”
He says nothing to me as he drives us home. Once we’re in the garage, he gets out of the car without a word, leaving me alone with nothing but my thoughts. He needs time. I know he doesn’t agree with my decision, and I do not know what this means about my future, but I can’t imagine not having my baby now I know they’re in there.
And I still haven’t told my father who the baby’s dad is.
Chapter Six- Emma
It’s been nearly a month since I told my father about my pregnancy, and I still feel like I’m walking on eggshells around the house. I’ve already told Brown I will be deferring my enrollment for a year because of unforeseen health events. They were luckily more understanding than I had expected.
Pregnancy has been rough, rougher than I was expecting it to be. I don’t think I’ve ever been so tired in my life. The nausea has become full-blow morning sickness, which isn’t limited to the mornings. I spend all hours of the day with my face in a toilet, depositing whatever I’ve dared to eat. It’s supposed to get better in the second trimester and I look forward to being able to do something outside of sleep and vomit.
I have an appointment scheduled for next week, one I will go to alone unless I connect with Enzo. He doesn’t have a social media profile, not one that I can find, and while I’ve found a few leads on the internet, none of the people I’ve called have been willing to connect me with him. My last chance is my father.
He’s been retreating into his office as soon as he gets home each day. From there, he goes straight to bed. He must be picking up food on his way home because family dinners are a thing of the past. It’s like living with a ghost.
I refuse to put up with it anymore. Enzo deserves to know I’m having his child. If that means I need to confront my father so he can put me in contact with him, then that’s what I need to do.
Instead of knocking on his door, because I know he won’t answer, I barge right into his office. He’s looking over some contracts with a glass of dark liquid in his hands. I wince. The smell had been giving him away, but I hoped it was something I was imagining. My father doesn’t drink much. His father was an alcoholic, and he has always tried to stay away from it to keep history from repeating itself.
My pregnancy has been enough to drive him to drink.
The familiar guilt I can’t escape creeps in. His eyes snap up to me and I swallow down the lump in my throat. This is going to make things worse for him.
“Father,” I say, standing in the doorway of his office. He at least dares to look bashful as he sets the glass down.
“Emma.”
We stare at each other for what feels like several never-ending minutes. The ticking of the clock lets me know that in reality, it's only been a few seconds. The nerves don't help with the nausea. I thought that the fact that I had completely emptied my stomach of its content minutes before would keep me from puking again, but my stomach bile threatens to rise while I fight my nerves.