Chapter 2

After throwing up, I lay on the floor, gasping for breath. Suddenly, a thought flashed through my mind.

No freaking way. This couldn't be happening.

It had been over two months since Nicholas and I had sex.

Wait a second.

A month before the divorce, Nicholas came home drunk, hugged me, and mumbled something like "I'm sorry" and "I didn't want this." I was already dead inside, but my body had its own ideas. I didn't really resist.

Damn it.

I got up, went downstairs, and bought three different brands of pregnancy tests from the pharmacy.

When I got back, I sat on the toilet and tested each one, one after another.

The first one, two lines.

The second one, two lines.

The third one, still two lines.

I stared at the three pregnancy tests lined up on the sink, and suddenly, it felt like fate was hammered when it wrote this mess.

I was divorced, but I was pregnant with my ex-husband's baby.

And it took me two years to finally walk away from my ex-husband.

I sat on the edge of the sink, really starting to think about my life.

The first thing that crossed my mind was to abort it.

My heart twinged for a second, but logic quickly took over. I couldn't have this baby. Not because I didn't want it, but because this kid would be a Hayden.

If the Hayden family found out, they'd definitely try to snatch it away. And even if they didn't, they'd find a way to mess up this kid's life.

Sharon thought the scarf I gave her was dirty, as if she'd ever accept a kid I gave birth to.

No way. I couldn't have it.

I grabbed my phone and booked an appointment at the OB-GYN for tomorrow.

Then I opened the food delivery app and ordered a bowl of extra spicy hot wings with fries on the side.

I treated it as one last indulgence before it was all over.

*****

The next day, I went to the hospital. During the ultrasound, the doctor pointed at a tiny bean on the screen and said, "See that? You're six weeks along, and the heartbeat is really strong."

I stared at that little bean, at the flickering spot on the screen, and suddenly felt my nose tingle.

"Hear that?" the doctor said, turning up the volume. The thumping filled the whole room, fast and wild, like a foal sprinting.

I burst into tears right then and there.

It wasn't just quiet tears. I was bawling my eyes out, so hard the doctor nearly jumped out of their skin.

"Hey, are you not planning to keep it?" the doctor asked carefully.

Between sobs, I managed, "I'm divorced."

The doctor went silent for a moment, then handed me a box of tissues. "That's up to you, but medically, you're in great shape, and the baby's healthy."

I wiped away my tears, stared at that little bean on the screen, and made a decision that would shock everyone, including myself.

I decided to have this baby. But it was not because I was suddenly bursting with motherly love.

It was because I had spent my whole life doing what others told me to do. But this time, I was finally listening to myself.

I wanted this baby, so I would keep it. As for the Hayden family and Nicholas, whatever. I would let them deal with it however they want. I didn't care anymore.

I could raise this baby all by myself, and I would do it better than anyone else.

After leaving the hospital, I called my mom. "Mom, I'm pregnant. It's my ex-husband's baby."

There was a long silence on the other end, and then she said something that broke me all over again.

She said, "Sweetheart, do you want something sour or spicy? I'll send it to you."

That was what a real mom was like. No matter what I decided, her first concern wasn't whether it was right or wrong. She only cared whether I had eaten or not.

I sniffled. "Mom, I want your homemade jam."

Mom said, "Alright, I'll make them tomorrow and, as soon as they're ready, I'll send them to you overnight."

After hanging up, I stood outside the hospital, sunlight warming my face.

I rubbed my still-flat belly and said to myself, "Little Bean, your mom's a mess, but your grandma's got it together. The three of us? We'll muddle through just fine."

At eight weeks pregnant, I had my very first episode of pregnancy-induced vomiting.

But this wasn't a run-of-the-mill morning sickness. I was in the middle of meeting a client at my studio when, without any warning, I suddenly spewed sour liquid right in her face.

The client was Tessa Wyatt, a well-off lady in her fifties who took great care of herself. She was wearing a ruby necklace worth 200 thousand dollars, a piece I had designed.

She'd been sipping the cappuccino I'd made for her, looking all refined, when I just up and threw up on her.

The air went dead silent for a solid three seconds.

I wiped my mouth, kept a straight face, and said, "Mrs. Wyatt, this is my latest breakthrough, pregnancy detox magic. What hits you is pure detoxifying goodness, which works wonders for your skin. Is your face feeling tighter already?"

Tessa blinked and touched her cheek, still a bit stunned. "Maybe a little."

"See? That's the effect," I said, handing her a pack of wet wipes like it was nothing. "Normally, I charge big bucks for this kind of treatment. But today, you get it for free."