Dorothy sat on the bathroom floor, her laptop balanced on her knees, scrolling through forums about faking pregnancy tests. The tile was cold against her legs, but she’d locked herself in here twenty minutes ago when she heard Jake’s key in the door downstairs. She needed to think. Needed to plan.
He’d come back, just like he’d promised. She’d heard him moving around the apartment, the rustle of him unpacking his duffel bag, putting his clothes back in the dresser. The sound of hangers sliding in the closet. He was staying. Actually staying.
And now she had to figure out how to keep him.
Her phone buzzed. A text from Jake: You okay in there?
Yeah, just not feeling great. Morning sickness maybe?
Even the lies were getting easier.
Want me to get you anything?
No, I’m fine. Be out in a
