CHAPTER 11: The Decision

I spent three days in Sarah's apartment, barely moving from the couch.

Three days of staring at the ceiling. Of making lists of pros and cons that didn't actually help. Of holding my phone and staring at Alexander's number without calling.

Three days of feeling like my entire life was suspended in amber, waiting for me to make a decision that would change everything.

Sarah brought me food I couldn't eat. Made me tea I couldn't drink. Sat with me in comfortable silence when words felt impossible.

Marcus came over Tuesday night. Sarah had called him—breaking my confidence but probably saving my sanity.

"You're pregnant," he said, sitting on the coffee table in front of me. Not a question. A statement of fact that his lawyer brain needed to process.

"Yes."

"With Alexander Sterling's baby."

"Yes."

"The CEO. The billionaire. James's father."

"Are you going to keep listing facts or are you going to say something helpful?"

He ran a hand through his hair—a gesture so like our dad that it made my chest ache. "Bella, this is—this is complicated."

"I know."

"Does he know?"

"Yes. I told him Monday."

"And?"

"And he said he'd support whatever decision I make. Financially. Emotionally. Whatever I need."

Marcus absorbed that. "Okay. That's good. That's—that's actually really good. A lot of guys would have run."

"He's not a lot of guys."

"Clearly." Marcus leaned forward. "So what do you want to do?"

There it was. The question everyone kept asking. The question I'd been avoiding for three days.

"I don't know," I whispered.

"Yes, you do."

I looked at him. "What?"

"You've known since you saw those positive tests. You're just scared to admit it." He took my hand. "Bella, I know you. I've known you your whole life. And I know that look. You've already decided. You're just afraid of what comes next."

Was he right? Had I already decided?

I thought about those three tests lined up on the bathroom counter. About the tiny cluster of cells growing inside me. About Alexander's hand on my stomach in that hotel room, neither of us knowing then what we'd created.

"I want to keep it," I heard myself say. "The baby. I want to keep it."

Saying it out loud made it real. Made it true. Made it terrifying and overwhelming and absolutely certain.

"Okay." Marcus squeezed my hand. "Okay. Then that's what we'll do."

"We?"

"You think I'm going to let you go through this alone? You're my sister. That baby is going to be my niece or nephew. We're in this together."

The tears I'd been holding back for three days finally spilled over. "I'm so scared."

"I know. But you're also the strongest person I know. You raised yourself after Mom and Dad died. You put yourself through college. You survived James. You can do this."

"What if I can't? What if I'm a terrible mother? What if—"

"You won't be. You'll be amazing." He hugged me tight. "And you won't be alone. You have me. You have Sarah. And apparently you have a billionaire baby daddy who seems surprisingly decent."

Despite everything, I laughed. "Don't call him that."

"What? Baby daddy? That's literally what he is."

"Marcus."

"Fine, fine. The father of your child. Better?"

"Marginally."

He pulled back, getting serious. "You need to tell him. That you've decided to keep it. He has a right to know."

"I know."

"And then you two need to have a serious conversation about how this is going to work. Custody. Child support. Living arrangements. All of it."

Living arrangements. I hadn't even thought that far ahead. Where would I live? Sarah's couch wasn't a permanent solution, especially not with a baby.

"One thing at a time," I said, feeling overwhelmed again.

"One thing at a time," Marcus agreed. "But Bella? You should probably also see a doctor. Make sure everything is okay. Get a due date."

Right. A doctor. I pulled out Alexander's business card—creased now from being in my pocket for three days.

"He said I should see Dr. Roberts. The company physician. That she's discreet."

"Do you trust her?"

I thought about Dr. Roberts's kind eyes. The way she'd said "everything is confidential" like she really meant it.

"Yeah. I think I do."

"Then call her. Today."

After Marcus left, I stared at my phone for another hour. Two numbers I needed to call. Dr. Roberts and Alexander.

I called Dr. Roberts first.

"Medical office, this is Dr. Roberts."

"Hi. This is Bella Martinez. We met last week in the marketing department."

"Of course. How can I help you, Bella?"

I took a deep breath. "I need to see you. It's—it's personal. And confidential."

There was a pause. Then, gently: "Are you pregnant?"

The tears came back. "How did you—"

"I've been doing this a long time. And you're not the first young woman to call me with that particular tone in her voice." Her voice was kind. Nonjudgmental. "When can you come in?"

"Is today too soon?"

"Today is perfect. Can you be here at two?"

I looked at the clock. 11:47 AM. "Yes. I can be there."

"Good. Come to the tenth floor medical office. Use the staff entrance, not the main lobby. More private."

"Thank you."

After I hung up, I looked at Alexander's number again.

This call was harder.

He answered on the second ring. "Bella?"

Just my name. But the way he said it—concerned, careful, like he'd been waiting for this call—made something in my chest tighten.

"Hi. I—I made a decision."

Silence. Then: "Okay."

"I'm keeping it. The baby. I'm keeping it."

I heard him exhale. Relief? Worry? I couldn't tell.

"Okay," he said again. "Okay. Are you—how are you feeling?"

"Terrified. Overwhelmed. But—certain. Does that make sense?"

"Perfect sense." There was a rustling sound, like he was moving papers. "Have you seen a doctor?"

"I have an appointment this afternoon. With Dr. Roberts."

"Good. That's good." A pause. "Do you want me to come with you?"

The offer surprised me. "You'd do that?"

"Of course. This is—I'm in this, Isabella. Whatever you need."

I wanted to say yes. Wanted him there, solid and steady beside me. But—

"People will talk. If you're seen going into the medical office with me."

"Let them talk."

"You keep saying that. But you're not the one who'll be called a gold digger. You're not the one people will say got pregnant on purpose to trap a billionaire."

"No one would say that."

"Alexander." I used his full name. "They will absolutely say that. They probably already are. I'm the new hire who dated your son. Now I'm pregnant and suddenly getting special treatment from the CEO? The optics are terrible."

He was quiet. Processing.

"Then I won't come to the appointment," he said finally. "But I want you to call me after. Tell me what the doctor says. Can you do that?"

"Yes."

"And Bella? We need to talk. About logistics. Where you're going to live. How we're going to handle this at work. All of it."

"I know."

"Not today. You have enough to deal with today. But soon."

"Okay."

"One more thing." His voice dropped lower. More intimate. "I know this isn't what you planned. It's not what I planned either. But I—I'm glad you're keeping it. Our baby."

Our baby. The possessive made my heart skip.

"Me too," I whispered.

After we hung up, I got ready for the doctor's appointment with shaking hands. This was really happening. I was really pregnant. I was really going to be a mother.

The thought was terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure.

The staff entrance to Sterling Corporation was around the back—a simple door with a keycard reader. Dr. Roberts had texted me a temporary code.

I slipped inside, grateful to avoid the main lobby and the receptionist who knew me.

The tenth floor medical office was small but well-equipped. Dr. Roberts greeted me with a warm smile.

"Bella. Come in. Have a seat."

Her office was comfortable—more living room than medical facility. Soft chairs, warm lighting, tissues on every surface.

"So," she said, settling across from me with a tablet. "You're pregnant."

"Yes. Three positive tests."

"And the father?"

I hesitated.

"Everything you tell me is completely confidential," Dr. Roberts assured me. "HIPAA protects you. I can't share anything with anyone—not HR, not management, not even Mr. Sterling himself—without your written permission."

Even Mr. Sterling. The way she said it made me think she knew. Or suspected.

"It's complicated," I said carefully.

"It usually is." She smiled. "Here's what I need from you medically: When was your last period?"

I tried to remember. "Maybe five weeks ago? Six? I'm not always regular."

"And the encounter that resulted in pregnancy—when was that?"

"Almost four weeks ago."

She nodded, making notes. "So you're likely about four weeks along. Maybe five. We'll do an ultrasound to confirm."

"An ultrasound? Already?"

"Transvaginal ultrasound. We won't see much yet—just a gestational sac, maybe a yolk sac. But we can confirm the pregnancy is in the uterus and not ectopic, get a baseline measurement, estimate your due date."

Due date. That made it feel suddenly very real.

"Okay."

She ran through a series of questions—medical history, family history, medications, lifestyle. I answered mechanically, my mind elsewhere.

"Any nausea? Fatigue? Breast tenderness?"

"All of the above."

"That's normal. First trimester is rough." She handed me a prescription. "Prenatal vitamins. Start taking these daily. And if the nausea gets bad, let me know. We can prescribe something."

The ultrasound room was down the hall. Dr. Roberts explained the procedure—uncomfortable but necessary this early. I changed into a gown and tried not to think about how vulnerable I felt.

The screen came to life in grainy black and white.

"There," Dr. Roberts said, pointing to a small dark circle. "That's your gestational sac. And that tiny flickering—see it?"

I squinted. There was something. A tiny pulse of light.

"That's the heartbeat."

My hand flew to my mouth. "Already?"

"Already. About 110 beats per minute. Perfect for this stage." She took some measurements. "Based on the size, I'd say you're about four and a half weeks along. Due date is approximately..." She calculated. "Late March. March 28th to be exact."

March 28th. That was when I'd become a mother.

That was when Alexander Sterling would become a father. Again.

"Everything looks good," Dr. Roberts said, printing out images. "Healthy pregnancy so far. I want to see you again in four weeks. And Bella?" She waited until I met her eyes. "Whatever situation you're in—whoever the father is—you don't have to face this alone. Okay?"

The kindness in her voice nearly undid me.

"Thank you."

She handed me the ultrasound photos. Two blurry images that didn't look like much of anything. But somewhere in that blur was my baby.

I left the medical office in a daze, the ultrasound photos burning a hole in my purse.

I should go home. Call Sarah. Call Marcus. Rest.

Instead, I found myself taking the elevator to the forty-fifth floor.

David was at his desk. "Ms. Martinez. Mr. Sterling is in a meeting—"

"I know. Can you tell him I stopped by? That everything went—" I paused. "That the appointment went well."

Understanding flickered in David's eyes. "Of course. Is there anything else?"

"Can you give him this?" I pulled out one of the ultrasound photos. Folded it carefully. Wrote on the back: "Due date: March 28. Everything looks good. -B"

David took it without question. "I'll make sure he gets it."

"Thank you."

I left before I could lose my nerve. Before I could second-guess giving him that photo. Before I could wonder what he'd think when he saw it.

The subway ride back to Sarah's apartment felt different. I wasn't just Bella anymore. I was Bella-and-baby. A unit. A future mother.

The thought was terrifying.

But for the first time since I'd seen those positive tests, I also felt something else.

Hope.

Sarah was waiting when I got home. "Well?"

"Four and a half weeks. Due date March 28th. Heartbeat is good. Everything looks healthy."

She hugged me tight. "You're going to be a mom."

"I'm going to be a mom," I repeated, letting it sink in.

"Did you tell him? That you're keeping it?"

"Yeah. He—he was supportive. Said he wants to be involved."

"Good." She pulled back. "So what now?"

What now. The million-dollar question.

"Now I figure out how to be pregnant, work at Sterling Corporation, avoid James finding out, and somehow convince Alexander Sterling to—" I stopped.

"To what?"

I didn't have an answer.

To love me? To choose me? To want this baby as much as I was starting to?

"I don't know," I said instead. "I guess I figure it out as I go."

My phone buzzed. A text from Alexander.

ALEXANDER: Thank you for the photo. She's beautiful already.

She. He'd said she. Like he already knew it was a girl. Like he'd already imagined a daughter.

The thought made my heart do something complicated.

ME: How do you know it's a girl?

ALEXANDER: Father's intuition. 

ALEXANDER: How are you feeling?

ME: Overwhelmed. Scared. But okay.

ALEXANDER: We should talk. Tomorrow? After work?

ME: Okay.

ALEXANDER: My place. More private. I'll send a car.

His place. Alexander Sterling's home. Where he lived when he wasn't at the hotel or the office.

ME: Okay.

I set down the phone and looked at Sarah.

"Tomorrow I'm going to his house to 'talk about logistics.'"

"Logistics." She raised an eyebrow. "Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

"Sarah."

"What? I'm just saying, you're having his baby. You've already seen him naked. Might as well see where he lives."

She had a point.

"What if it's awkward?"

"It'll definitely be awkward. But you're having a baby together. You're going to have a lot of awkward conversations. Might as well start now."

She was right. Of course she was right.

Tomorrow I'd go to Alexander's house. We'd talk about how to handle this impossible situation. And somehow, we'd figure it out.

We had to.

For the baby.

Our baby.