That lying bitch!
The anger still strong overwhelmed him, still had him strung-out on tenterhooks, cursing into the artificial daylight draped above the departure lounge. Bitch! It was deliberate maliciousness on her part – she had meant to cut him to the core, had meant to hurt him. Had meant to expose his weakness to the world.
“I’m pregnant…” she whispered the words, not really to him but to the space between them – he had been so happy. He smiled, laughing – delighted that the doctors had been wrong in the first place. Bitch!
It had only been three weeks since they had shacked up together, on a whim, on an impulse. He was shocked, naturally, the doctors had said that he was infertile, that his boys would sooner sink than swim. It was why his wife left him, in the end, she was “too maternal” to have to live without children. She had to leave while she was still young enough to find a new man, still you enough to prick holes in condoms and hope for the best. That was why he had stumbled into Stacie’s arms – the rebound gone wrong, but ending up right.
It was why he didn’t bother with protection; he was a cave-man, dammit. He was proud of himself, proud that he had made himself a vector rather than a victim. Now Stacie was pregnant – bitch – and she said it was his. He should have known better.
The DNA test came back negative, and the bitch had cried in front of him, as though this were his fault. Cried in great, heaving gasps, saying that it was before she met him, that she loved him, that she thought it was his. Trying to flip the blame once again onto him. So now he was leaving, on a jet plane, and he was taking everything he had bought for the baby with him. Find the father, he had sneered, knowing it was a one night stand, knowing she couldn’t.