"The Baby He Rejected

Chapter 3: New Beginnings, Old Shadows

The rain in Portland fell steadily against the window of my tiny one-bedroom apartment like it was trying to remind me that running away didn’t erase the pain. The place wasn’t much. Faded beige walls, a lumpy couch that came with the rent, and a kitchen so small I kept bumping my hips on the counter every time I moved. But it was mine. No memories of Ethan. No expensive furniture or his cologne lingering in the air. Just me and the little life growing inside me.

I finished unpacking the last of my clothes and closed the drawer with a sigh. My fingers brushed against Ethan’s old college hoodie again. I knew I should have thrown it away, but I couldn’t. I brought it to my face for a moment, breathing in the faint cedar and spice scent that still clung to it. Tears stung my eyes, but I quickly wiped them away. “Stop it, Ava,” I whispered to myself. “You have a baby to think about now. You have to be strong.”

I placed my hand gently on my stomach. It was still flat, but I could feel the change. The responsibility. The love. “We’re going to be okay, little bean. Just you and me against the world.”

The first thing I did was search for work. My savings wouldn’t last long with doctor bills and baby things coming soon. I sat on the lumpy couch with my laptop, updating my resume and sending it out to every graphic design job and freelance gig I could find in the area. By the afternoon, I had two interviews lined up for the following week. Small victories, but they felt huge after everything I had lost.

My new cheap phone buzzed on the counter. Unknown number. My heart jumped into my throat before I reminded myself that Ethan couldn’t possibly have this number. I answered cautiously.

“Hello?”

“Ava Thompson?” A kind woman’s voice came through. “This is Dr. Ramirez’s office. We have an opening for your first prenatal appointment tomorrow at 10 a.m. Does that work for you?”

I let out a shaky breath. “Yes. Thank you. I’ll be there.”

After hanging up, I sat there staring at nothing for a long time. This was really happening. I was doing all of this alone. No Ethan to hold my hand during the ultrasound. No late-night talks about baby names or nursery colors. Just me figuring it out one scary step at a time.

That night, memories kept me awake. I remembered our first real date. Ethan had taken me to a quiet Italian restaurant, nothing too flashy even though he could afford the best. He listened intently as I talked about my dream of starting my own small design studio one day. “You have fire in you, Ava,” he had said, his gray eyes locking onto mine. “Don’t ever let anyone dim that light.”

How ironic that he was the one who ended up smashing it to pieces.

The next morning I woke up early and took the bus to the clinic. The waiting room smelled of antiseptic and old coffee. I filled out the forms carefully, marking “single” under relationship status and leaving the father’s information blank. It hurt more than I expected it would.

When they called my name, the nurse was sweet and chatty. Dr. Ramirez, a warm woman in her fifties, performed the ultrasound herself. She pointed at the screen with a gentle smile. “There’s your little one. Heartbeat is strong and healthy. About six weeks along.”

Tears slipped down my cheeks before I could stop them. That tiny flickering heartbeat on the screen made everything feel so real. Mine. Ours. No. Mine now. Ethan had lost the right to any part of this when he chose her.

“You’re doing this alone?” Dr. Ramirez asked softly, handing me tissues.

I nodded, wiping my face. “Yeah. It’s just us.”

She didn’t push for details. She just gave me prenatal vitamins, some paperwork, and kind advice. “Take it one day at a time, Ava. You’re not the first woman to do this, and you won’t be the last. Reach out if you need any resources for single moms.”

Back at the apartment, I pinned the ultrasound picture to the fridge with a magnet. It was the first real thing that made the place feel like home. For the first time since that nightmare at the restaurant, a small spark of hope lit up inside me. I could actually do this. I would do this.

But as evening came and I was eating simple pasta for dinner, my mind wandered back to unanswered questions. Who was that blonde woman? Why did Ethan look at me with that flash of pain before turning away? I shook my head. It didn’t matter. He was engaged now. Probably planning a big wedding while I worried about affording diapers and baby clothes.

I was washing my plate when a loud knock sounded at the door. My whole body froze. No one knew I was here. I hadn’t told a single soul. Slowly, I walked to the door and looked through the peephole.

It wasn’t Ethan.

A delivery man stood there holding a plain envelope. “Ava Thompson? Package for you.”

I opened the door a crack and signed for it with trembling hands. The envelope had no return address. Inside was a single sheet of paper and a photo.

The paper had bold typed words:

“He didn’t choose her willingly. The proposal was never real. Watch your back. They’re already looking for you.”

The photo showed Ethan outside our old apartment building, looking disheveled and angry, phone pressed to his ear. My old number was scribbled on the back with a note: Call him before it’s too late.

My hands shook so badly the paper fell to the floor. Who sent this? How did they find me so fast? What did “never real” mean?

I stared at the ultrasound picture on the fridge, then back at the mysterious note. My new safe place suddenly didn’t feel safe anymore.

Just as I picked up the phone, debating whether to call Ethan despite everything, another knock came at the door. Harder this time. More urgent.

“Ava? Open up. I know you’re in there.”

The voice was deep, familiar, and filled with barely controlled emotion.

It was Ethan.