We’re not at this café for a normal lunch between a boyfriend and his loyal girlfriend. No, my dear, we’re here for an ambush. A bombshell. A catastrophic turn of events that’s about to turn my uneventful life upside down. And I’m supposed to have words at this point to speak? What are words?
Ethan utters my name, but I can’t peel my gaze away from the image in front of me. My tunnel vision is focused on the small grayscale picture he slid towards me with guilty eyes a few minutes ago. The picture next to the Cobb salad that will never be eaten and next to the iced tea covered in condensation dripping down the glass, crying for me.
The picture is actually perfectly clear. They say it’s hard to make out anything but blobs of gray in these things, that you can’t see much at this point. But they say a lot of things, like that love conquers all, and all you need is love. Whoever they are, they are full of shit.
I can see everything in the picture so perfectly. The tiny button nose, the delicate fingers, the rounded belly. I can make it all out just fine.
The baby in the ultrasound picture in front of me belongs to my boyfriend.
But the baby in the ultrasound picture doesn’t belong to me.
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