"Camille, come on, how long will you continue like this?" Doris said the moment she walked into the guest room after returning from work. She found me still lying on the bed, curled up under the thin blanket she'd given me, my face buried in the pillow.
It had been a week since Lucas found out about the pregnancy and fired me, shattering our engagement and canceling our wedding. He hadn't bothered to respond to my messages or calls. Once, I'd gathered the courage to visit his townhouse, hoping to explain, but the security guard turned me away at the gate. I felt utterly miserable, a hollow ache in my chest that deepened with every passing day, worsened by the nausea and exhaustion of the pregnancy. I was a mess...physically, emotionally, completely lost.
"I hurt him, of course he deserves to be angry," I murmured quietly, my voice muffled against the pillow, my throat raw from crying. I was tired of having this same argument with Doris every time she tried to lift me out of my despair. Of course Lucas had every right to feel betrayed.
"You've already said it wasn't intentional," Doris countered, stepping closer and crossing her arms... "You can't keep blaming yourself for what happened."
"It's my fault," I whispered, turning my head slightly to meet her gaze. "I should have noticed it wasn't Lucas. I should have known."
"Come on, don't beat yourself up over it," she said gently, sitting on the edge of the bed beside me, her hand resting lightly on my shoulder. "It's in the past now. The best thing to do is move on."
"How can I possibly move on?" I asked, my voice breaking as I sat up slowly, my hands clutching the blanket to my chest. "I've lost my job, my fiancé. I don't have anywhere to go, and I haven't found a new job yet. In eight months, this baby will be here, and I'm not ready." My voice cracked, fresh tears spilling down my cheeks as the reality of it all crashed over me again.
Doris sighed, her expression softening with sympathy as she squeezed my shoulder. "I still think you should consider giving the baby up for adoption," she said gently.
I sighed inwardly, a familiar frustration bubbling up. Not again. She had suggested an abortion first and when I firmly rejected the idea.
"I want this child. It's not its fault what happened. It's innocent."
"I'm not saying it's guilty," Doris replied, her voice rising slightly, her hands gesturing in frustration, "but clearly you're not ready to be a mother. You don't have to do this."
"I know I don't have to, but I want to," I insisted, my hands resting protectively over my still-flat stomach.
"Camille…" she started, her tone pleading, her eyes searching mine.
"Doris, please," I interrupted, my voice weary, my head dropping into my hands. "Not now. I don't have the energy for this."
"You have to do something," she pressed, standing up and pacing the small room. "You can't stay here all day wallowing in your misery. Lucas is gone, accept it. You have to move on from him already, get your ass up, and get a job. Your fairytale life with Lucas is over."
Her words hit me like a slap, and I turned to look at her, my mouth falling open in shock, my eyes wide with hurt. The harshness of her tone cut deep, and I felt a sting of betrayal. She must have seen it on my face because her eyes widened, her hand flying to her mouth as realization dawned.
"I didn't mean that," she said quickly, stepping toward me, her voice softening with regret, her hands outstretched in apology.
"No, I understand," I said, my voice flat, my gaze dropping to the blanket as I pulled it tighter around me. "You're tired of me staying here. I get it, no one wants a freeloader. I'll be out of your hair soon."
"Camille, don't be like that," she pleaded, sitting back down and grabbing my hand. "Of course I want you here. You're my friend."
"You don't have to explain," I said, pulling my hand away gently, as I stared at the wall. "It's your house. It's okay if you want your privacy back."
"I…" she began, but her words were cut off by the ring of her phone. A smile bloomed on her face, as she glanced at the screen. "I'm sorry, I have to take this. Take care," she said hurriedly, standing and stepping out of the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
Despite the sting of Doris's harsh words, I knew deep down she was right. I couldn't keep spiraling like this, wallowing in the wreckage of what had been. It was time to let go of Lucas and shift my focus to what mattered most now—the baby. This child, growing inside me, hadn't asked for any of this chaos, and I refused to let it bear the weight of my mistakes. More than that, I'd always yearned for a family of my own. Growing up in foster care, shuffled between homes with no roots, had planted a fierce longing for a caring husband and a house full of children. Lucas had once shared that dream, his passion for a family drawing me to him, and we'd painted such a perfect picture together—until that one slip-up tore it apart.
Hot tears prickled my eyes, but I clenched my fists, willing them back. I'd cried for a week straight, and it hadn't changed a thing. The tears were pointless now. What I needed was a plan—a way to carve out a safe, comfortable home for my baby. Renting an apartment would be the first step, but my savings were meager, barely enough to cover the basics. Hospital bills loomed large on the horizon, and even if I landed a job tomorrow, the road ahead felt dauntingly long.
Pulling out my phone, I started scrolling through articles about the costs expecting mothers face, my thumb pausing when I stumbled across one about child support. Curiosity got the better of me, and despite my hesitation, I tapped it open. Over the past week, my thoughts had drifted to Damien a few times, though I'd quickly shoved them aside. I'd considered telling him—he deserved to know—but the idea withered before it could take root. He clearly hadn't warmed to me, and I doubted he'd welcome news of a baby with anything but resentment.
Another reason to keep silent was Lucas. I couldn't bear to hurt him more by revealing that his best friend was the father. It would shatter him, a betrayal he might never recover from. But as I read the article, a question gnawed at me: Why should I suffer alone? It had been a mistake, one none of us had intended. And why should my child miss out on the comfort her biological father could provide? She deserved so much more than the struggle I faced.
Encouraged by this realization, I dove deeper into child support, my resolve strengthening with every paragraph. Later that day, fueled by a mix of determination and nerves, I searched for Damien Montgomery, my fingers trembling slightly as I typed his name, ready to face whatever came next.