Baby Daddy

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚃𝚎𝚗

When I get home, I find light spotting on my underwear and quickly discard it.

My hands are bruised and painful by the time I finish washing the stains off.

And as I sit in the bathroom, a whirlwind of emotions overpowers my senses and I find myself scrolling through google, searching for any plausible explanation to this.

But I don't.

Something chips at my heart as I bite on my finger nail. My foot is unsteady, tapping against the floor as I scroll further, reading.

It's all the same.

Miscarriage.

Ectopic pregnancy.

Cervical changes.

Since I'm still in my first trimester the worst I see is molar pregnancy.

I could have cancer instead of a baby. But the test were positive.

My face is wet before I even feel it, and I use my hand to clean up as sobs escape my lips.

I can't take this.

I try to calm my nerves, taking small, deep breaths but nothing works. I can feel it, stuck in my chest but I can't let it out.

It takes me forever to get my bearings, and when I do, I march around my room gathering some necessities. A few clothes enough for the weekend.

I change my clothes and pause when I find some pads stashed in the bathroom. I hesitate before grabbing them with a heavy heart.

I exchange Maddie's note on the fridge with mine, letting her know that I'll be back by Monday.

If I do decide to come back.

I manage to breathe when I lock the door to our apartment. In a matter of minutes I'm in a bus, on the way back home.

I can't help the smile growing on my face, a sense of relief and peace overcoming me as I watch the beautiful scenery pass us by.

It's like embracing a fresh start. When my hand hovers over my stomach, I look down and my eyes burn.

I quickly wipe away the tears falling down my cheeks and look out the window.

Luckily I'm seated alone and apart from the middle aged, dark skinned man two seats away, it's just me at the far end of the bus.

I take a deep breath, closing my eyes and envision it; a fresh start. At home, just the way it should've been.

It only takes me six hours to get home.

When I get to my childhood home, it's six thirty and dark but kids are still scattered around the streets; girls playing hop scotch and skipping rope while some boys race around with their bikes.

It brings back memories. Oh to be a child again. Not a single worry or stress to be burdened with.

I bite on my lip, contemplating whether to knock or just use the spare key hidden under the flower pot. After all, this is my home. I'm no stranger, and, it's only been like what, three months?

I only knock twice and immediately my mom's cheery face greets me with open arms.

"Kira," she beams, hugging me tightly.

"Hey mom." I smile, flinching and pulling the lower part of my body from her. Just like clock work, I start crying. "I missed you."

I feel cold when she pulls away, rolling her eyes as she pulls me into the house. It smells like lavender and laundry detergent in here.