“Yeah.” She laughs strangely. “Don’t blame me if I don’t feel too guilty about it. Are you even going to look at me?”
I turn slowly, letting my fists fall to my sides. She sits in my oversized chair with her knees drawn up to her chin, her arms wrapped around her legs, her chin resting on her knees. Her bare legs and bare feet make her look oddly vulnerable. Her curled hair makes her look younger. Her freckles shine through despite the makeup Mother applied. She’s gorgeous.
She’s a gorgeous, beautiful woman who stabbed me in the back. I misjudged her. I thought I loved her. Maybe I still do.
“What a mess,” I whisper.
“I know you have to banish me now, or worse—I know you have to punish me—so if this is the last time we’re going to see each other, you need to know something: I’m pregnan
