This was why. This was why he had taken me. Why he had done this to me. It wasn’t about me—it was about the child.
I was nothing more than a surrogate.
I felt sick. I turned and ran back to the room, slamming the door shut behind me. My breath came in sharp gasps. I clutched my stomach, as if that would erase what was inside me.
This can’t be happening.
I needed to get rid of it.
The next few days were a blur. Bryant started treating me differently. Nurses arrived—Angela, the main one, was always by my side, checking my vitals, making sure I ate. Bryant acted like he cared, but I knew better.
One afternoon, Angela handed me a small pregnancy test. “Just to confirm, Miss Geoffanie,” she said with a soft smile.
I already knew the answer. But still, I locked myself in the bathroom and took the test.
Minutes passed.
I stared at the two pink lines.
Pregnant.
Tears slipped down my cheeks. I bit my lip to keep from screaming.
This was his child.
I needed to end this.
That night, I made my decision.
I waited until the mansion was quiet. I crept into the bathroom, trembling hands reaching for the small stash of pills I had secretly hidden.
One swallow. That was all it would take.