On a Tuesday (One Week 1)

Unsure of what to do next, I didn't tell any of my friends or family. I wanted Grayson to know first, and I wanted him to be with me, even if it was just for a day.

I continued calling his phones—his old line, his new business line, his new personal line. He never answered, never returned a call. I sent him an email and carbon-copied his agent on it hoping for better results.

SUBJECT: URGENT: PLEASE open and answer.

Grayson,

I’m pregnant.

Charlotte.

STILL NO RESPONSE.

After three days passed, I began looking up flights to New York, but I received a “We’re on our way. Be at your place in an hour” text from Anna and felt a slight tinge of relief. I rushed home to make sure I’d be there when they arrived, but when they arrived, it wasn’t “they” at all. Only Anna.

“So, you’re pregnant?” she asked, barging into my living room.

I nodded. “Is Grayson with you?”

“No.” She tossed her bag onto my couch. “No, he is not with me, but he sent me to see you once he got your message.”

“Okay...So, is he coming tomorrow or another day?”

“He's not coming at all." She looked sympathetic and tapped a few things on her phone. "He's trying to move on and focus on his career, but he promised that he’ll fix this as long as you can prove that it's his. So, how much do you want for it?”

“It?”

“Yes. ‘It’ as in the albatross that’s currently growing inside your stomach. 'It' as in the anchor that you're hoping to tie around his neck in hopes of getting him to come back to you, even though it’ll probably never happen. Just say the amount and he promises to pay it.”

My heart dropped. “That’s what he said?”

“No, what he said was far crueler, but I would never repeat that.” She shrugged.

I stared at her.

“The quicker you tell me, the better. Of course, if you’re going to seek child support, you'll need to keep the lovechild a secret. Don't think about writing any books or going on any speaking tours."

“You can leave now, Anna.”

"A few last things," she said. "Grayson wants to make sure that you're not taking advantage of him and his future earnings, so you'll need to send me the ultrasound picture to confirm that you are pregnant. You'll also need to agree to go to a DNA lab of his choosing to make sure that the child is his and not someone else's." She picked up her purse and headed to the door. “So, just to recap, I’ll draw up the paperwork whenever there’s proof of your—” She glanced at my stomach and rolled her eyes. “Pregnancy. Unless of course—”

I slammed the door in her face.

I SCHEDULED A SUPER late appointment for an ultrasound on the same day as the NFL draft, hoping that I would be able to escape any and all news about Grayson, but my logic failed because a group of patients was watching it on the waiting room TV.

I forced myself to look on as the New York representative took to the podium.

“With our first round, first choice pick...” he said. “New York selects University of Pittsburgh quarterback, Grayson Connors!” The crowd cheered loudly and the camera panned to Grayson standing up from the table. He smiled at the cameras, and my heart skipped a beat as he walked to the stage to receive his New York hat and jersey.

Even though I was angry at him, I was happy he was number one. I pulled out my phone to text him a last-ditch Congratulations, but I dropped it to the ground when I saw a supermodel—Elizabeth Thieles, kissing him.

What the hell? I watched to see if he would kiss her back, and he did. Then he gave her a hug and walked off stage, shattering any faith I had of us getting back together. He’d changed just like he said he wouldn’t, and I was going to have to accept that.

“Miss Taylor?” Someone called my name.

“Yes?”

“You can come to the back now.”

I followed her into a small room and undressed, simply going through the motions while my heart continued to break inside of my chest.

I lay back on the table and shut my eyes as the nurse spread a cool gel across my stomach.

“Just keep still, Miss Taylor,” she said softly. “Based on what you wrote on the form, you’re probably about eight weeks, but we’ll verify that in just a second. We’ll also have to prescribe vitamins and get you assigned to a personal doctor near Stanford. But for now, let's just get to my favorite part. Are you feeling okay?"

I didn’t answer. I’d never felt so hurt in my life.

“Okay...” The nurse was still trying to talk to me. “I’m turning on the screen and I’m using this wand that I’m pressing against you...” She moved the wand against my stomach. “This is so we can get a shot of the growing baby—i.e., little Charlotte, and the heartbeat. Feel free to look whenever you’re ready.”