Page 6 of Painted Love

And just like that, my affair with Piper is over.

Chapter four

Piper

It'sbeensixmonthssince Jesse walked out my door for the last time.

Seven months since I realized I was late.

And four since I found out I was pregnant.

I haven't told him; I haven't spoken a word to him. He didn't call me when he got back to Fern Hollow, like he said he would, and I had to find out through social media that his mom is sick.

He didn't want me there to support him. And I got it--it made sense. I'm his brother's ex.

But I wished he wanted me there...and now that I'm starting to show, I don't know what to do.

I feel the weight of my secret every day. My stomach has grown, and I can't hide it anymore. I've been avoiding people, staying inside most of the time. I can't risk anyone seeing me and asking questions.

But today, I have to face the world. I have a doctor's appointment, and I'm scared.

I don't know how to raise a child on my own. How will I provide for them? How will I protect them from the world? I don't even know if I want to keep the baby. Maybe it would be better if I just gave it up for adoption.

As I sit in the waiting room, my thoughts race. I try to distract myself with magazines, but nothing works. Finally, the nurse calls my name, and I follow her to the examination room.

The doctor is kind but straightforward. She asks me questions about my health and my history, and then she does an ultrasound.

I see the baby on the screen, and it makes it all real...and I know it doesn't make sense, that it can't be possible, but the baby looks like Jesse.

My heart races as I stare at the ultrasound screen, unable to tear my gaze away. It's impossible. It can't be. But the more I look, the more I see it. The shape of the nose, the curve of the lips. It's uncanny.

Or maybe I just miss him.

Because I reallyreallymiss him.

I feel a lump rise in my throat as tears prick at my eyes. I blink them away, trying to focus on what the doctor is saying.

"Everything looks good," she's saying, "but I do want to talk to you about your living situation. Have you been eating enough?"

"Um..." I trail off, fiddling with my hospital gown. "I haven't really been able to afford groceries. Life in the city is expensive, and I'm a freelance artist, I don't get a lot of business..."

"Is the baby's father planning on being in your life?"

The baby's father. Those words echo in my mind like a thunderclap. I know what it means. It means I have a choice. It means I don't have to go through this alone.

"He's not in the picture," I mumble.

But maybe he should be.

I take the bus home, and I find myself in my empty apartment. Empty...except for my art, the few things I own.

And memories of him.

The empty drawer in the bathroom.

A leather jacket still hung where he left it on the back of one of my dining table chairs.

And portraits of him all over my studio.