Alpha Saga: How I Met Your Daddy

Chapter 3

APRIL

I wished I had never seen Oliver Potter.

No, I’m not exaggerating. I wish I had simply looked down at my plate that day at the restaurant and left without ever speaking to him. The thought of him now brought nothing but an overwhelming heaviness to my chest.

Letting out a long, tired sigh, I muttered, “Ah… I’m tired of this. So f*****g tired.”

The baby had been taken to the NICU because she had a high fever, but the doctor reassured me that there was nothing to worry about—she seemed fine.

The medical staff had been stunned when they saw the newborn immediately sit up in her cradle. When I say they were shocked, I mean utterly flabbergasted, lingered stares and dropped jaws type s**t. I was asked if I was fine with videos being taken, to which a stern 'no' was all the answer they got. They couldn’t believe their eyes. I was told that this was something they had never seen or even heard of before. Most infants aren’t able to sit up on their own until at least four to seven months old.

This was scary.

“The father must be so proud of her,” a nurse said with a kind smile. “Is there a reason why he isn’t here?”

I returned the smile, but quickly looked away. I didn’t want to lie.

How was I supposed to explain this to anyone? I couldn’t even tell Aunt Ellen that the father was a random man I had slept with one random night. How humiliating was that?

Right after that night with Oliver, I had started feeling, um, off. Some of what I felt, I later learned, were normal symptoms of pregnancy. Others—like a heightened sense of smell—were not so ordinary.

Then I missed my period. Curiosity gnawed at me, and I took a test. Positive. I took another, and another—it was always the same. Eventually, I realised I had to accept my reality.

Without thinking twice, I decided to get an abortion. At that point, I hadn’t even told Aunt Ellen or Pascal. The procedure went smoothly at the wonderful facility I visited, and for a while, everything seemed fine. But after the abortion, I discovered I was still pregnant. Nothing they did could stop it. The baby was here to stay, they said. Look, it literally happened to me but I swear I couldn't articulate how or why the abortion attempts were unsuccessful.

Near depression, I resigned myself to my fate. I told some friends and family that I was pregnant. Then I tried to call him but I couldn’t. And no, it wasn’t due to a part of me blaming him for not pulling out; I knew I couldn’t go down that route. It was my mistake as well. The main reason was, I didn’t want rejection. It was already f*cked up as it was, and chances were that was exactly what I would get. Come on, I knew men. No man would willingly accept a baby from a random girl he met one night—a girl he probably thought was a w***e.

“The baby is alright,” Aunt Ellen pulled me out of my thoughts as she drew closer, taking my hands in hers. “Everything is alright now. There’s nothing to worry about. You’re a mother now.”

My eyes lingered on the white ceiling above, and I whispered, “I guess so.”

Sitting beside me, still holding my hands, she said, “When you held her for the first time, with the biggest smile I’ve ever seen on you, you said she had his eyes. You were talking about the child’s father, weren’t you?”

I nodded.

She continued, “But you don’t want to tell him about the baby, do you?” She paused, patting my shoulder gently. “It’s your decision, April. No one can make it for you. If you think he’s a bad person, then you should do what you must. No matter what, I’ll always be here for you, come rain or sun.”

She kissed the back of my hand and stepped out to make a call.

A bad person? I wouldn’t be naive enough to think Oliver wasn’t a bad person—he could very well be—but I didn’t know. That was the problem. I didn’t know anything about him. If he hadn’t given me his number, I wouldn’t even know how to contact him.

Now, I had me a baby I never planned for.

As Aunt Ellen exited, in the heat of the moment, I said, “F*ck it,” picking up my phone and hurriedly dialling his number. I didn’t overthink it—if I did, I knew I would chicken out, just as I had for the past eight months.

“Am I speaking to Oliver Potter?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“April?” he said, clearly startled. “I thought I’d never hear from you.”

Wow. He recognised my voice. This was good, wasn't it? It meant that he probably still had me—oh, don't be delusional. But at least now I didn’t have to explain that I was that random woman he had slept with nine months ago.

His tone was alive, almost warm. “This is a pleasant, pleasant surprise, April. It’s been… what? Seven months?”

“Oh, a little more than that. Trust me on this.”

I have to admit, it felt awkwardly nice to hear his voice again. I could easily picture his face, even envisioning what he had worn that night.

“So, how’s it going?” he asked.

Taking a deep breath, I said, “I’m just lying here in the hospital, a little lightheaded. That aside, I’m fine, I guess.”

Yes, I didn’t know how to say it. Was I supposed to just blurt it out? Damn, this was frustrating.

He gasped, “Hospital? I hope it’s nothing serious.”

Now or never.

“That’s a rather tricky question to answer. But I’ll tell you this… I just put to bed.”

For a moment, he was silent. Then, softly, he said, “I’m so happy for you, April.”

Sobbing, I whispered, “I really… I just… I don’t even know how to say this…”

He cut in gently, “April, breathe for me, will you? What’s the matter? Is the baby alright?”

“Yes, it’s a girl,” I said, wiping tears from my cheeks. “And she’s beautiful. She even has your eyes. That was the first thing I noticed.”

He laughed softly, “That’s so nice of you to say.”

How the hell was I supposed to say this? I didn’t even know where to start.

For what felt like an eternity, I stayed silent. But I didn’t hang up either. No hyperbole—this was one of the hardest moments of my life. And I am saying this after pushing out a six-pound human.

My breath shaky, I muttered, “The baby is yours, Oliver. It’s our baby.”

“You said what?” His voice was uncertain.

With every fiber of my being, I repeated myself. “Oliver… that night… I learned the hard way that you didn’t pull out. No—I’m not blaming you but maybe I am. I don't know. I just thought you should know.”

He didn’t respond at first, and that was fine. This wasn’t easy to process. Regardless of what he said, I had already decided that contacting him was simply to inform him—not to expect anything. The child was mine, and he could choose whether or not to be involved.

Then, finally, he spoke: “It can’t be mine, April. I’m sorry. This isn't your usual dickhead response but I’m not the father.”

Okay, it stung. The thought of him denying my beautiful baby felt cruel. But I had anticipated this. I was prepared. No big deal.

I wanted to hang up, block him, and focus on this new, scary, yet thrilling chapter of my life. My brain urged my body to act.

Instead, I yelled at him. I let everything pour out—the frustration, the anger, the fear.

“She’s so beautiful!” I shouted, voice cracking. “And she doesn’t need a f*cking loser like you. My girl is strong and she will never need you!” I paused to sob, “She sat up minutes after being delivered… that's the universe's sign to me that my girl is tough, and she will never ever need…”

He interrupted, “She did what? Did you just say she sat on the first day?”

If I rolled my eyes any further, I would peep my brain. Of everything I said, that’s what he latched onto? Damn it. Aunt Ellen had told me all my life not to judge a book by its cover. If only I had remembered that when I opened my legs to him like a church's door to sinners.

“I’m sorry… where are you now?” he asked, tense and unclear.

“Why are you asking?” I snapped, voice high-pitched and sharp.

Without hesitation, he said, “I’m coming to see my child, April.”