A Night Of Regrets

Chapter 5: Dilemma

But in a flash, literally in the blink of an eye-at the break of morning light creeping through her curtains-Joy woke up to find Robin already up and now putting on his shirt. The silence between them was different this time around, weighed down by the knowledge of what transpired.

Joy heaved herself up and dragged the sheets up, feeling everything and nothing.

A part of her wanted to say something, but what was she to say? This wasn't her world; this wasn't her life.

Robin stood with his back to her and adjusted his watch. "I will call for a car to take you home," he said quietly.

Joy nodded, though the words caught in her throat. "Thank you."

He turned and gave her one last glance. "Take care of yourself, Joy."

Saying that, he was out the door, leaving Joy alone in the luxury suite, debris of what had happened between the two of them all over the place.

She closed her eyes and took conscientious measures to settle her breathing, hoping her brain would take the hint, too, and just file it away as this onetime thing.

But deep inside his bones, down into the marrow, he knew.

She knew this was far from over.

Something had changed, and that feeling she couldn't shake burrowed into the folds of her brain in the form of realization-that one night would change everything.

She saw that her mother was up sipping tea at the small table in the kitchen as she walked in that morning. The pungent, familiar fragrance of herbs, the often-there lightest of odors of medications her mother ran each day were heavy in the air.

A very old refrigerator hummed low inside the apartment-the only sound. It was almost as if Joy stepped into a world other than the one she had left just a few hours previously.

Her mother sat up; the whites of her eyes shone bright despite the sickness. "How was the event, sweetie?

She slapped on a bright smile, kicked her shoes off, and hung her jacket by the door.

But even then, her mind reeled with what she had done in Robin's arms-the feel of his hands, the tenderness in his gaze-she pushed those thoughts aside. It was not something her mother needed to know. Nobody needed to know.

"It was… great, " she said, sitting down opposite her. "The house was beautiful, and the people were… you know, rich." She chuckled slightly, hoping her voice sounded normal, like something strange hadn't happened.

Her mom beamed at her. "I'm so glad you got to go! Did you meet anyone interesting?

Guilt betrayed Joy-a pang of it flickered in her chest. "Not really," she lied, keeping her voice steady. "It was mostly just serving drinks and listening to people talk about their vacations and charity work. But it was nice to be somewhere else for a while."

Smiling, her mother nodded as her hand reached out and gently squeezed Joy's. "I'm glad you took a night for yourself. You deserve that."

Joy swallowed the lump in her throat and fought not to have the emotion etch itself onto her expression. She couldn't break down now. Not in front of Mother. "Yeah," she whispered. "I think I did.

As days passed, life returned to normal. Joy juggled her three jobs shift to shift, kept the bills paid and continued to see her mother wanted for nothing.

The recollection of that night with Robin gradually drifted to the back of her mind almost surreally-a distance in reality. It just about felt like it never happened.

Then the signs began manifesting, it seemed: first of all, the strange tiredness; then the nausea-it came on her quietly enough, but with persistence, until on one morning she could not look away any longer.

She sat sideways on to her bed with racing heart, weighted down with horror.

"No. No, this cannot be happening," she had whispered to herself, clutching onto the bed sheets for dear life. Still, she knew it-bone fragments screaming inside her.

She'd stopped on her way home from work to get a pregnancy test, handed over the money shaking, and then locked herself in her bathroom staring at the thing while the world fell out from beneath her feet as the results came up-positive.

Joy's knees buckled, and she went down, her back bracing against cold tile. Tears popped into her eyes as finally it hit homeshe was pregnant, carrying the baby of Robin, a man who didn't even know who she really was, let alone remember her if he tried.

What had been a one-night stand had just become the most important moment in her life.

Her mother… she'd be devastated. And then there was Robin. He deserved to know, right?

---

Days hazily passed in anxiety and uncertainty. Joy called Robin, but it soon became all but impossible to get near him.

Either totally indifferent assistants answered the office lines of his company or there were robotic voices asking her to leave messages that likely would never be heard.

She had dialed again and again-at least for some response-but each time it was no more than a dead end.

"Sorry, Mr. Carrington is unavailable," the voice of the woman at the reception repeated, it felt to her, for the hundredth time.

"Please," Joy pleaded once, her voice breaking. "This is important. I need to speak with him. It's personal.

But there was no message Joy could leave that would explain this. Nothing she could say to a stranger that would communicate the urgency of her situation.

She slung her phone onto the bed, frustration growing inside her like a tempest. How was she to tell him if she couldn't even reach him?

---

A week afterward, Joy stood in front of the mirror in her small bathroom, staring back at her reflection. She still did not look any different, but she knew she was.

That little life growing inside was now a silent presence that seemed ever-present. She had told no one, not even her mother. The very thought turned her stomach. How could she burden her mother with this when she was already so sick?

Her hands remained on her flat stomach, a quivering breath escaping her lips. She knew she needed to tell Robin-it was only fair-but he would more than likely want nothing to do with her after that.

Yet, every time she reached for her phone, trying to ring him, there just seemed to be more and more complications: his world so far away from hers, really, and it didn't seem as though it was going to get any easier.

Tonight she leaned over the bed, overcome with exhaustion from her long work at the dinner, called every number, tried every contact she could think of; now there was nothing to do but wait and pray that somehow he'd hear her.