Baby

One month later

“N-no, no, this cannot be…” I crashed down on the floor, my hands jittery as I crashed onto the floor.

“Pregnant,” I stared at the test results in my hands, tears rolling down my face.

“It’s impossible,” I muttered , staring at the three other test strips on the floor, all positive.

“I cannot be pregnant, not for Salvatore, n-not him,” My breath caught in my throat, tears dripping down my face uncontrollably.

The bathroom felt too small all of a sudden. Too quiet. My chest rose and fell too quickly as the word echoed again and again in my head.

Pregnant.

“No,” I said again, shaking my head violently as if that alone could change what the tests were telling me. My fingers trembled as I picked up another strip from the floor, staring at the two pink lines until my vision blurred.

Four tests.

Four.

“They’re wrong,” I whispered, though the words sounded weak even to my own ears. “They have to be wrong.”

But the truth sat heavy in my chest.

One month.

Exactly one month since I left New York. One month since my life fell apart in the middle of that street while reporters screamed my last name like it was a crime. One month since I watched Salvatore Moretti stand there and admit he was the reason my father was now sitting in a prison cell.

My stomach twisted violently as the memory of that night pushed into my mind before I could stop it.

His hands around my waist. The way he had pulled me closer, his forehead resting against mine like the world outside didn’t exist.

“I love you,” he murmured softly.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

“Liar,” I whispered bitterly, my hand slowly dropping to my stomach.

It felt the same as always. Flat. Normal.

And yet suddenly it didn’t feel like my body anymore.

“I can’t do this,” I muttered under my breath.

How was I supposed to carry his child? How was I supposed to wake up every day knowing that the man who destroyed my family was also the father of the life growing inside me?

The thought made my chest tighten painfully.

A sharp knock sounded on the door and I froze.

“Celine?” Aunt Lucia’s voice came from the other side. “Are you alright?”

My heart jumped into my throat.

I scrambled to my feet, quickly wiping my cheeks with the back of my hand. The test strips were still scattered across the floor. Panic shot through me as I grabbed them quickly and shoved them into the small trash bin beside the sink.

“Celine?” she called again, her voice more concerned this time.

“I’m fine!” I answered quickly, forcing my voice to sound steady.

The door opened slightly anyway and Aunt Lucia leaned inside. Her eyes immediately landed on my face.

“You’re crying.”

“I just slipped,” I said quickly, turning away to wash my hands at the sink.

“Slipped?” she repeated skeptically.

“Yes,” I said, grabbing a towel. “The floor was wet.”

She watched me for a moment longer, clearly unconvinced. “Breakfast is ready.”

“I’ll be there in a minute.”

After a second she nodded slowly and stepped away, the door closing behind her.

The moment I was alone again, the strength drained out of me. I gripped the edge of the sink and stared at my reflection in the mirror.

My eyes were red. My face pale. Pregnant.

My stomach twisted again.

“What am I supposed to do?” I whispered to myself.

There was no answer.

I took a deep breath, splashed cold water on my face and dried it quickly before leaving the bathroom.

The smell of coffee drifted through the small apartment. Aunt Lucia was standing by the stove as she cooked.

“There you are,” she said when she saw me. “I thought you disappeared.”

“I’m here.”

She placed a plate in front of me as I sat down at the small kitchen table. Toast, eggs, fruit.

Normally I would have been starving by now.

Instead my stomach churned the moment I saw the food.

“You’re pale again,” she said, studying my face. “You’ve been looking like that all week.”

“I’m just tired.” I replied, trying to brush it off.

“You’re always tired lately.” She answered, moving closer.

“I’ve been stressed.”

“Well of course you’ve been stressed,” she said gently. “Everything that happened with your father…”

The mention of him made my chest tighten again, I pushed the food around on my plate without eating.

“You should see a doctor,” she added after a moment.

My fork froze. “A doctor?”

“Yes,” she said. “You nearly fainted two days ago.”

“I didn’t faint.”

“You almost did.”, she said again, enunciating the word doctor.

The word made panic crawl up my spine.

“No,” I said quickly. “I’m fine.” Aunt Lucia watched me carefully.

“Celine,” she said softly, “you know you can talk to me, right?”

I swallowed hard, If I opened my mouth now, the truth might slip out.

And once it did, there would be no taking it back.

“I know,” I said quietly.

“Then tell me what’s wrong.”

I forced a small smile. “Nothing is wrong.”

She didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t push further either.

“Eat,” she said instead.

I forced myself to take a bite of toast even though it felt like swallowing sand.

After a few minutes I excused myself and walked back to the small guest room I had been staying in since arriving in Lisbon.

The moment the door closed behind me, I leaned back against it.

My hand drifted to my stomach again without thinking.

A child, Salvatore’s child.

Tears burned my eyes once more, and I tilted my head back to stop my whats from falling.

“No one can know,” I whispered quietly.

Because if there was one thing I was absolutely certain about now, it was this—

Salvatore Moretti would never find out about this baby, the baby I was about to get rid off.