Chapter 6: Trimester and Paper
The second trimester brought energy I had forgotten existed and legal mail I filed without flinching.
Priya’s office became a second calendar: status on the order, vendor refund trails, a short declaration for the court about ongoing third-party contact attempts from Margaret’s sister. I wrote the facts once, signed them, and refused to perform the story for anyone who wanted tears with their gossip. The bruise on my back had yellowed out of sight. The report kept its color.
Ethan tried a mediated message through counsel—concern for the baby, regret for “how things escalated,” a request for joint prenatal appointments. I answered through Priya: medical decisions were mine; any interest in parentage would go through formal channels, not through the man who had blocked a door for an ATM card. Escalated was a soft word for a shove. I did not soft-walk it.
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At the agency, I hired a junior coordinator so client work would not rest entirely on a pregnant body that still startled at the sound of a deadbolt in television dramas. Revenue held. One client who had known Ethan socially asked whether “the personal situation” would affect timelines. I said no and delivered early. Competence was a language Margaret’s living room had never learned to speak to me.
Nights I lay with a hand on the swell of my stomach and catalogued kicks like evidence of a future that did not require Ethan’s last name to be real.
