Chapter Five
1420 Words
She woke to grey dawn light filtering through the tent’s thin fabric. The man beside her was still asleep, his arm thrown across her waist.
Gia carefully extracted herself from his embrace. She found her ruined dress and pulled it on, the fabric stiff with dried salt water.
What had she done? She’d slept with a stranger. A drugged, drunk stranger who probably wouldn’t even remember her face.
Shame burned through her chest. She needed to leave. Now. Before he woke up and saw her properly in the daylight. Before he realized who he’d been with.
Before he looked at her the way David had looked at her.
Gia crawled toward the tent opening, moving as quietly as possible. As she did, something fell from her ear—one of her pearl earrings, a gift from her grandmother.
The hotel room was cheap and anonymous—exactly what Gia needed. She paid in cash, gave a fake name, and collapsed onto the scratchy comforter without even removing her dress.
She slept for fourteen hours.
When she finally woke, she checked her phone. Seventy-three missed calls. Forty-six text messages. Most from David’s number, a few from relatives, several from unknown numbers.
She deleted them all without reading.
Then she called a lawyer.
Six weeks later, Gia was staring at three positive pregnancy tests.
“No. No, no, no.” She pressed her hands to her face. “This can’t be happening.”
She was pregnant.
With a stranger’s baby.
A stranger whose name she didn’t know. Whose face she barely remembered. Who’d been so drugged and drunk he probably didn’t even remember the encounter.
Gia’s first instinct was panic. She couldn’t do this. Couldn’t raise a baby alone, without support, without money, without—
Her hand went to her stomach.
A baby. A life growing inside her. Something that was half her, that she could love without condition, that would never look at her with David’s contempt or Eleanor’s disgust.
A choice.
For the first time in her adult life, this was entirely her choice.
“Okay,” she whispered to the empty bathroom. “Okay. We can do this.”
She had no idea how. But she’d figure it out.
**Four Years Later**
Gia wiped down the bar counter. The dive bar—Rusty’s—wasn’t glamorous, but it paid better than her day job at the marketing firm, and the tips kept Sharon fed and clothed.
Sharon. Her reason for everything.
The divorce had been mercifully quick. David hadn’t contested it—had actually seemed relieved. He’d kept the house, the cars, everything they’d accumulated during their marriage. Gia had walked away with nothing.
And she’d been fine with that. More than fine.
Being broke was better than being broken.
The first year had been hell. She’d lived in a women’s shelter for three months, working temp jobs and saving every penny. No family to fall back on—her parents had died in a car accident when she was nineteen, leaving her alone in the world. David’s family had been the closest thing she’d had to relatives, and they’d made it abundantly clear she was no longer welcome.
But Gia had survived. She’d found the studio apartment, gotten the two jobs, and when Sharon was born, she’d discovered a strength she never knew she possessed.
The weight had come off gradually—stress initially, but then Gia had started taking care of herself properly. She’d learned to cook healthy meals on a budget, started walking everywhere to save on transportation, did exercises in her tiny apartment while Sharon napped. She meal-prepped on Sundays, chose lean proteins and vegetables over processed foods, drank water instead of soda. It wasn’t about David anymore, or Eleanor’s judgment, or fitting into a certain dress size.
It was about being strong enough to carry Sharon when she was tired. About having the energy to work two jobs and still read bedtime stories.
Now, at twenty-seven, Gia barely recognized the woman she’d been. Her hair fell in sleek waves past her shoulders—no longer the mousy brown she’d maintained for David, but highlighted with subtle caramel tones. Her body was lean and strong, curves in all the places she’d once been ashamed of.
“Hey! Ice bucket for table seven!” The bar manager’s voice cut through her thoughts.
Gia grabbed the metal bucket filled with ice and a bottle of premium vodka—some high roller had ordered it—and headed toward the booths at the back.
She was looking down, making sure she didn’t spill, when she collided with something solid.
No, someone.
The bucket flew from her hands. Ice scattered everywhere. And Gia found herself falling forward, arms windmilling, heart in her throat—
Strong hands caught her waist, steadying her against a chest that felt like it was carved from stone.
“Whoa. Careful there.”
Gia looked up and found herself staring into the darkest eyes she’d ever seen.
The man was stunning. Tall—easily over six feet—with broad shoulders that strained against an expensive charcoal suit. Dark hair styled perfectly, sharp jawline, olive skin that suggested Mediterranean heritage. He looked like he’d stepped out of a magazine spread.
And he was holding her like she weighed nothing.
“I—I’m so sorry.” Gia tried to step back, but his hands remained on her wais. “I didn’t see you—”
His eyes searched her face. Something flickered across his expression—confusion, recognition maybe? But it passed so quickly Gia thought she’d imagined it.
“Have we met before?” he murmured, almost to himself.
“What?”
He blinked, seeming to snap back to the present. “Nothing. Are you alright?”
“You stupid b***h! That s**t is cold!”
They both turned. The drunk man from table seven—the one who’d ordered the vodka—was on his feet, his shirt soaked with ice water, face red with rage.
“Oh God. I’m so sorry, sir.” Gia rushed toward him, pulling napkins from her apron. “Let me help—”
“Help? You ruined my f*****g shirt!” He grabbed her wrist, his grip painful. “Do you know how much this costs?”
“I’ll pay for the cleaning, I promise—”
“You’ll do more than that, you clumsy—”
His free hand came up, and Gia saw the slap coming but couldn’t move fast enough.
It never connected.
The handsome stranger appeared between them his hand catching the drunk’s wrist mid-swing. His expression had gone from amused to deadly in a heartbeat.
“She doesn’t recognize me,” he muttered under his breath, still staring at the drunk. “I must be mistaken.”
Then, louder: “It’s totally not her fault. I saw everything. You were leaning back in your chair like an i***t, blocking the walkway. She couldn’t see you. So how about you sit down, shut up, and let the lady do her job?”
The drunk tried to yank his hand free, but the stranger’s grip was iron. “Who the f**k are you?”
“It doesn’t matter who I am. What matters is that you have no right to put your hands on a woman. Ever.”
He released the drunk’s wrist with a sharp twist that made the man yelp.
“You’ll pay for this!” The drunk stumbled backward, cradling his hand. Blood dripped from his nose—when had that happened? “This isn’t over!”
He grabbed his jacket and fled toward the exit, knocking over a chair in his haste.
Gia and the stranger watched him go, then looked at each other and burst out laughing.
“I think you broke his nose,” Gia said, wiping tears from her eyes.
“He ran into my fist. Completely accidental.” The stranger’s grin was unrepentant. “Guys like that need to be scared more often.”
“Well, thank you for—” Gia gestured vaguely. “For that. You didn’t have to.”
“Actually, I did. I have a very strict policy against watching women get assaulted in bars.” His eyes crinkled at the corners. “So what do I have to do to get a drink around here? Preferably without ice being thrown at me?”
Gia laughed. “Let me get you a fresh table. And the first drink is on me.”
- Writer
