Baby Daddy

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚃𝚠𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚢-𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎

If I could, I would.

Oh, trust me I would.

I would take back all the things I said to her. All the things I didn't mean. All the things that weren't meant for her.

I would turn back time and take it all back.

I would pull her into my arms and cry and tell her that I miss her and tell her how sorry I am.

I picture all the right moments that could've been in my head. I plan every single moment, from the minute I stepped into that godforsaken bar right down to the second I left her vulnerable on the rooftop.

And every minute of it is full of regret.

I should've looked for her as soon as I got there. Just like I did last year.

One; I could've hugged her and wished her a happy birthday.

Then, two; I should've gone down on my knees and apologized for leaving without so much as a word.

And lastly, three; I should've told her about the miscarriage. But I didn't.

I didn't do any of that.

Ah, fuck. I ruined everything.

She even asked how the baby is. I want to laugh and cry at the mere memory of that. My heart burns just as I choke.

Why would she ask that?

Six months of absenteeism and the first thing she thinks about is the baby.

The baby.

The fucking baby.

I tilt my head back, trying to suppress the burning tears. Why would she ask that?

"Finish up," comes Portia's raspy voice. Her back is hunched, head down and hands buried in the pockets of her jacket as she makes her way out of the house.

So I swallow the pain and let out a laugh, shaking my head as I pack up my cleaning supplies.

Why does it still hurt?

I left everything and everyone, yet it still hurts. Almost as if it all happened yesterday.

I should be holding and nursing my baby right now.

Why me?

I sniff, finally closing the door behind me and stalk towards Portia's beat up Volkswagen. I smile when I see how relaxed she is, her hand sticking out of the car, feet on the dashboard. A woman without a worry in the world.

My heart aches throughout the drive back to the office. I stare out the window, people and buildings passby in a blur.

I should've asked how she is and how she has been. And if Reilly is treating her well.

Ah, another problem; Reilly.

I doubt that Randall said anything to him, neither did Fiona as well as Celia. . .if she knows anything about the miscarriage.

If someone did tell him then, one less person to worry about. Every now and then my hand wounds up on my stomach.

I keep my back turned, staring out the window and wipe the rebellious tear rolling down my cheek.

I should tell him though. Even if he already knows, I should have the balls to tell him that I had a miscarriage. . .almost seven months ago.

How will he take it?

Will he even care? If memory serves right, he didn't care. He held my hand at the abortion clinic like he did then told me to do whatever I want. He didn't care. Hell. He threw me to the wolves and never spoke to me again.