3: The Headlines

Laura’s POV

I woke up to shouting. I thought it might be a dream. I could just open an eye. 

The ceiling above me had brown stains from water. The motel was, of course, thin in its construction so that someone in the adjoining room was yelling at a child.

My heart doubled its speed. I sat up. For a moment, I felt lost. The suitcase standing in the far corner of the room snapped me right back into that horrible reality. High-pitched. 

The divorce. The cold slap of Antonio's voice. The test strip I hid in the pocket of my coat. The tiny life growing inside me.

Slowly, I got out of bed, wrapping the thin motel blanket around my shoulders. It was cold.

I crossed over to the corner where the TV sat on a stand, turned the dial, and sat on the corner of the bed.

The screen came to life. The morning news. A bright, smiling female anchor was speaking at a fast pace.

"Breaking story this morning: Antonio De Luca, CEO of De Luca Enterprises, has made a surprising announcement just moments ago."

My breath caught in my throat. I leaned forward. There he was. Antonio. My husband or ex-husband, I suppose, by now.

Standing upon a stage. A kind of soft velvet curtain hangs behind him. There were reporters in front of him. Flashing cameras.

Dark gray. His favorite suit. I ironed it for him last week. And there stood Clara, clad in white.

Tight-fitting. Soft curls flowing through her hair. Her lips were red as if stained from wine. I felt a deep curve in my chest. 

Antonio cleared his throat and leaned down to the microphone. "Today I would like to share some happy news," he said.

His tone was calm, smooth, and false: "As of this morning, I am engaged to the love of my life, Clara Hensley." 

The reporters were all shouting questions. "When's the wedding?"

"Wasn't he married last month?"

"Isn't this all a bit too quick?"

He just smiled. Clara held his arm like she owned him. She leaned in and kissed his cheek, then he said those words I will never forget: "I was trapped in an unhappy marriage for too long. But now, I am finally free."

My fingers dug into the blanket. Free? So I was a prison now?

I wanted to throw the television against the wall. But I couldn’t. My body was frozen. Dry in my throat. 

And then it happened. The one that I never would have guessed. The reporter shouted out, “Mr. De Luca! Rumors are that your ex-wife was pregnant. Is that true?” 

My heart stopped. Antonio's expression changed for a second. Didn't look like anything coherent. Shock? Shame? Panic? 

Then he laughed. “No. That's ridiculous. Laura is... not capable of raising a child. Trust me.” 

Clara whispered something in his ear. He nodded. Then he said, “If she is claiming that it's a lie. She's doing it for attention. There's no baby.” 

My vision blurred. I turned off the TV and just sat there, my hands trembling. He had denied our baby.

He called me a liar. On live television. That son of a bitch did not even know I was carrying his child. Instead of asking me about it, that one-sentence spiteful remark destroyed me. 

My baby. A lie? No. No. I jumped up so fast, the chair tipped backward. I couldn't stay here.

…

One hour later, I was walking alongside the busy street, the cool air wound tightly around me in a swatch of coat. 

The city was too fast for me to see or to respect people. They were rushing past me, honking and laughing.

I felt submerged, like I didn't belong. I stopped in front of a pharmacy and walked inside.

Inside the pharmacy were bright lights, and the air smelled of soap and plastic. A young woman behind the counter smiled at me. "Can I help you?"

A little hush in my voice: "Pregnancy test." She gave me the test without asking any questions. I paid in cash. 

I went back to the motel, locking the door behind me, and sat on the floor of the bathroom.

With trembling hands, I opened the box and read the instructions twice. Then I did it. Five minutes.

Okay, so the box said so. My eyes were glued to the test, with the lines appearing very slowly. One. Two. There it was, two pink lines. Pregnant again. Real again. Mine again. 

I clutched the test to my heart and wept. "I'm not lying," I whispered. "You're real. You're here. And I'm not going to let him wipe you out."

…

Later that night, I sat by the window with a notebook on my lap. I had to plan. I was not going to sit there and cry. 

I needed to sort this out. I needed a job. A home. Somewhere to protect my baby. I wrote down a few things. Find a doctor. Look for work. Call the shelter? St. Ruth's? Ethan? 

That name. The man that the stranger spoke of. The guy who, he said, "fixes mistakes".

I opened up my phone and typed in "St. Ruth's Shelter."

One result. I dialed the number. It rang once. Twice. Then, a soothing voice said, "St. Ruth's. Ethan speaking."

Words failed me. My voice broke. "I... I don't know why I'm calling."

There was silence for a moment. Then his voice was soft: "Are you safe right now?"

"Yes. I'm in a motel."

"Are you alone?"

"Yes."

"Pregnant?"

My throat tightened. "Yes."

He took a breath. "Can you come here tomorrow morning? We have a space for you."

Tears rushed up again. "Yes," I whispered. "Thank you."

…

The next morning, I stood outside the shelter. It was a little building with flowers on the windowsills. Nothing fancy. But it felt calm. Quiet. Safe.

I stepped inside. And the very man called Ethan was there. Taller, in his mid-thirties, with warm brown eyes. 

A little rough around the edges. Kind smile. He looked at me, not like a problem.

Not like a burden. But like a person. "Hi," he said softly. "You must be Laura."

I nodded, tears trying to find their way out. He held out his hand. In giving him my hand, I had no idea that this mark would forever be on my life.