CHAPTER 2
1263 Words
Chapter 2
Elara's Point of View
I can't sleep. Every sound in my tiny apartment makes me jump. The papers from that woman are on my kitchen table, staring at me like they're alive.
It's been three days since Abigail Sinclair came to the diner. Three days of looking over my shoulder. Three days of wondering when her brother will show up.
My phone rings. I don't know the number.
"Hello?" My voice shakes.
"Is this Elara Hayes?"
The voice is deep and strong. It makes my skin tingle in a way I don't understand.
"Who is this?"
"My name is Dante Sinclair. I believe my sister spoke with you."
I almost dropped the phone. This is him. The man who might be my baby's father. The man who wants to take my child away.
"I don't want to talk to you."
"We need to meet."
"No, we don't."
"Yes, we do." His voice gets harder. "I'm in the parking lot outside your building."
My heart stops. I run to the window and look down. There's a big black car parked under the streetlight. A man in a dark suit leans against it, talking on his phone.
Even from up here, I can tell he's tall and strong. His hair is dark. He looks up at my window like he knows I'm watching.
I step back fast.
"Come down, Elara. We're going to talk about whether you like it or not."
"You can't make me."
"I can wait all night. I have nowhere else to be."
I look at the clock. It's almost eleven. Mrs. Chen next door will call the police if she sees a strange man hanging around. I don't need that kind of trouble.
"Fine. Five minutes. That's all."
"Take your time."
I hang up and look at myself in the mirror. My hair is messy. My clothes are old and have stains. I look like what I am - a broke pregnant girl who's scared out of her mind.
I put on my coat and walk downstairs. My legs feel like water.
He's still by his car when I come outside. Up close, he's even bigger than I thought. His suit probably costs more than I make in a year. His eyes are dark and serious. They look at me like he's trying to solve a puzzle.
"You're smaller than I expected," he says.
"Sorry to disappoint."
He almost smiles. Almost. "You didn't disappoint. You surprised me."
"What do you want?"
Instead of answering, he opens the car door. "Get in."
"I'm not getting in your car."
"Elara." The way he says my name makes my stomach flip. "It's cold. You're pregnant. Get in the car so we can talk like adults."
I want to say no. Every part of me screams to run back upstairs and lock my door. But he's right about the cold. The baby doesn't like it when I'm cold.
I get in the car.
It's warm inside. The seats are soft leather. Everything smells expensive. He gets in next to me and suddenly the car feels very small.
"Better?" he asks.
I nod because I don't trust my voice.
He turns to look at me. His eyes are the darkest brown I've ever seen. They look sad and angry at the same time.
"Tell me about the night you got pregnant."
My face gets hot. "That's private."
"Nothing about this baby is private anymore." His voice is quiet but firm. "Tell me."
I look out the window. "I don't remember much. I was drinking. I was sad. Some guy at the bar was nice to me. We went to his place. When I woke up, he was gone."
"What did he look like?"
"I don't know. It was dark. I was drunk." I turn to face him. "Why does it matter? Your sister already has some paper that says you're the father. Isn't that enough?"
Something changes in his face. His jaw gets tight. "My sister showed you DNA results?"
"Yes. She said you tested me while I was at the hospital."
He closes his eyes for a second. When he opens them, they look different. Angrier.
"Elara, I need you to listen to me very carefully. I have never met you before tonight. I have never been with you. I don't know how my DNA ended up connected to your baby, but I promise you - we have never slept together."
My brain stops working. "But the paper..."
"The paper is real. The DNA match is real. But I swear to you, I don't know how that's possible."
I stare at him. He looks like he's telling the truth. But that doesn't make sense.
"Then how...?"
"I don't know. But I'm going to find out." He reaches into his jacket and pulls out an envelope. "In the meantime, this is for you."
"What is it?"
"Money. Enough to quit that job and see a real doctor. Enough to buy real food and pay your rent."
I don't take the envelope. "I don't want your money."
"It's not about what you want. It's about what the baby needs."
"Why would you help me if you don't even know if it's yours?"
He's quiet for a long time. When he speaks, his voice is softer. "Because you're alone. Because you're scared. Because no one should have to go through this by themselves."
Something in his voice makes me want to cry. When was the last time anyone cared if I was alone or scared?
"There's something else," he says. "I want you to move in with me."
"What?" I almost yelled at it.
"Just until the baby comes. You'll have your own room. A safe place to live. Good food. The best doctors."
"I can't do that."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't know you! Because this is crazy! Because..." I stop. The real reason is that he scares me. Not because I think he'll hurt me. He scares me because when he looks at me, I feel things I shouldn't feel.
"Think about it," he says. "You don't have to decide right now."
He reaches over and opens my door. The cold air rushes in.
"Take the money, Elara. If not for you, then for the baby."
I look at the envelope in his hand. Inside is probably more money than I've ever seen. Money that could change everything.
But taking it means I owe him something. And I don't know what that something might be.
"I need time to think."
"You have until tomorrow night."
"That's not enough time."
"It's all the time you have." His voice gets hard again. "Because whether you take my help or not, I'm going to be part of this baby's life. The question is whether you want to make this easy or difficult."
I get out of the car without taking the money. As I walk toward my building, I hear him call my name.
"Elara."
I turn around.
"Your father asked me to take care of you before he died. I always keep my promises."
The world stops spinning. "My father is dead. He died when I was born."
"No," Dante says quietly. "He died six months ago. And his last words were about you."
I stand there with my mouth open, watching him drive away. My father was alive? He knew about me? He asked this stranger to take care of me?
Nothing makes sense anymore. Nothing at all.
And tomorrow night, I have to give Dante Sinclair an answer that might change my life forever.
- Writer
