Too late I Am Carrying His Child

The clink of cutlery on china echoed through the kitchen, but Victoria’s voice cut through it like a blade. “I don’t want another mom,” she said sharply, her fork frozen in mid-air, a piece of scrambled egg dangling off the tines. Across from her, her father, Daniel Bernal, sat motionless. The newspaper in his hand sagged, forgotten. His silence stretched for a second too long. Victoria dropped her fork. “Besides, I’m old enough to take care of myself. I’m twenty, for crying out loud.” Golden morning light streamed in through the window, flooding the kitchen in warmth. But the warmth didn’t touch her. Not today. A half-eaten breakfast sat between them, but neither seemed interested anymore. Daniel sighed, folded his newspaper, and set it aside. The sound was careful, deliberate, like he was trying not to make anything worse. He looked different today. Older. Maybe it was the lines of fatigue creasing his face or the heaviness in his eyes—eyes that had once been steady and full of quiet strength, now dulled with uncertainty. “Honey, this isn’t just for me. It’s for you too,” he said gently, voice like gravel smoothed over with patience. Victoria blinked slowly, her gaze falling to the empty chair beside her—the one that hadn’t been touched in years. Her mother’s chair. It had been five years. Five years since her mother’s laughter filled the kitchen. Since the scent of her perfume lingered in the hallway. Since Victoria had fallen asleep in her arms after a long day. Cancer had taken her in silence. One night she was there, comforting Victoria through a breakdown over college rejections; the next, she was gone. Victoria remembered it all vividly. The way her mother used to braid her hair on Sunday mornings. The sticky notes she’d leave on the fridge—You're stronger than you think. The way she sang along to cheesy love songs while cooking dinner. She hadn’t just been a mother. She’d been hers—her best friend, her anchor. And now… her father wanted to bring someone new into that sacred space? “I appreciate that you think you’re doing the right thing, Dad,” Victoria said tightly, picking up her toast. “But I don’t need someone playing house in Mom’s place.” Daniel leaned forward, his elbows resting on the edge of the table. “I just want us to feel like a family again,” he said quietly. “A whole family.” “We are a family,” Victoria shot back. “Just the two of us. It’s worked fine for five years, hasn’t it?” Her voice cracked near the end. She hated that. Hated how her emotions had started to show. Daniel didn’t argue. He only watched her for a long moment. Then he said, “It’s not about replacing your mom, Victoria. It never will be.” She stared at her plate, jaw tightening. “Then why are you asking me to accept another woman in this house? Why should I sit across from someone pretending they know how this family works?” She looked up, eyes glassy but fierce. “Why should I watch someone else sit in her chair?” Daniel closed his eyes briefly, like the weight of her words physically hurt him. Maybe they did. “She’s not pretending anything. Regina’s a kind woman. She’s not trying to be your mother.” “Then what is she trying to be?” Victoria pushed. “Because she’s moving in here, right? She’s marrying you. So what does that make her?” Daniel was quiet again. Victoria stood, pacing a few steps, arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her whole body felt tense, like if she didn’t clench every muscle, she’d fall apart. He spoke gently, but firmly. “It makes her someone who wants to be part of our lives. Someone who can love you too.” Her chest twisted. “I don’t need anyone else to love me. I’m not a kid anymore.” “No,” he said, standing now too, “you’re not. But even adults need people. Even strong women need someone to lean on. Especially when they’ve lost someone.” His voice softened. “I’ve tried to be both parents to you, Vic. I really have. But there are things a father just… can’t do.” Victoria turned away, arms still crossed. She stared out the window, blinking hard. “I just miss her,” she said finally. “I miss her every day. And I’m scared that letting someone else in means I’m letting her go.” Daniel walked over and stood beside her. He didn’t try to hug her. Just stood in her orbit. “I miss her too,” he said quietly. “Every day. But I think she’d want us to keep living, sweetheart. Not just surviving.” Victoria’s throat felt thick. Her eyes burned. “I’m not ready for this,” she whispered. “I’m not ready to see another woman take her place. Not now. Maybe not ever.” “She won’t take her place,” Daniel said. “No one ever could.” She looked up at him then, finally letting him see the pain in her eyes. He reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. She didn’t shrug it off—but she didn’t lean into it either. “I just want you to think about it,” he said softly. “That’s all.” She stepped back, picking up her bag from the chair. “Well, I’ve thought about it,” she said. “And I don’t want this. I meant it.” She walked to the door, and as she reached for the knob, he said again, “Just think about it.” The words hung in the air like a bell ringing in an empty church. Victoria paused. Her fingers tightened on the doorknob. For a second, it looked like she might say something. But she didn’t. She opened the door and stepped outside, letting it slam shut behind her. The autumn air slapped her in the face—cold, sharp, and sobering. She stood on the porch, not moving, breathing fast. The quiet outside was nothing like the silence in that kitchen. A bird chirped. Somewhere down the street, a car passed. But inside her head, all she could hear was his voice. Just think about it. She wiped at her cheek, pretending it was just the wind that made her eyes sting. But the truth was harder to admit. Her father was moving on. And for the first time, she realized he already had. Maybe Regina wasn’t just a visitor anymore. Maybe she was going to be a fixture. A new rhythm in a house, Victoria thought she understood. She squeezed her bag tightly against her side, like it could anchor her to the moment. Then she turned down the front steps and started walking. Fast. Like if she moved quickly enough, she could outrun everything her father had just said. But the truth trailed behind her like a shadow. Nothing was staying the same. And deep down, she knew… This was only the beginning.