I’ve always looked at Lauren and wondered what goes through her mind. Now more than ever as she prances around her parents’ home, her belly swollen, my baby growing inside of her, looking like the most content girl alive. Ignoring my despondency. Ignoring my lack of affection or effort. Ignoring the fact that she lied to me about being protected. Trapping me. Every day, I wake up and take a few moments to register that Jake isn’t here anymore. Then a few more moments to register that in a moment of weakness, of pure stupidity, I accepted a bottle of vodka from Lauren, downed the lot, marveled at the numbness it offered, and then fucked her. At that moment, with drink dulling my pain and my dick inside a welcoming pussy, I was out of my body. Away from my grief. Four months later, I’m married to a girl I do not love. Hardly even know. Definitely don’t understand. Or trust. Or feel comfortable around. But it’s all I’m good for now, and doing what is expected of me feels . . . right. Especially after all of my wrongs. And yet, all I feel is empty.

I hear a horn honking outside, and I’m up out of my chair in a heartbeat, my spirits lifting. I see Uncle Carmichael pull up and get out, slipping his shades on. John is with him, the big burly bloke looking as foreboding as always. Oh, thank God. They’re here to get me away from this hell for the day. I head for the kitchen door, ignoring Lauren’s calls, but when I open it, I’m faced with her father.

“You can’t see him,” he says. “You’re a husband and soon to be a father. You should be here, looking after my daughter.”

“It’s our . . . it’s my eighteenth birthday.” Over a year without Jake. “He always comes to see me on my birthday,” I say, passing him, half expecting to be pulled back. I’m not. At least, not by him. But Lauren grabs me.

“Oh my God, Jesse!” she practically screams, and I turn to find her clenching her belly, her eyes watering.

My stomach drops. “What? What is it?” I ask, scanning her up and down, trying to figure it out as she cries and yelps. “Are you hurt? Is it the baby?”

“Look what you’ve done now,” Alan snaps, leading Lauren to a chair and sitting her down. “Now, now, darling, what is it?”

“Pain,” she cries. “It hurts.”

I stand like a useless fool while Alan tends to her. Stand and listen to her cry and wail. Puff and clench her belly.

Torn.

Guilty.

Lauren’s father takes his time with her, calming her. The tears subside. An ambulance arrives. The baby’s heartbeat is perfect. No bleeding. Nothing wrong with the baby, or with Lauren.

“What a fright,” she says, smiling, reaching for my hand.