My Ex’s Fake Heir Is My Son

"First and last month, plus security," Mr. Vargas said. He tapped a grease-stained clipboard against the peeling laminate counter. "Cash only."

"I told you on the phone, I only have the first month right now." I pressed a hand to my lower spine, shifting my weight to ease the grinding ache in my pelvis. "I just need the keys."

"I run a business, lady, not a charity." He eyed my swollen belly. "You look like you are about to pop. A screaming kid means noise complaints. Noise complaints mean I lose good tenants."

"I do not have anywhere else to go." I pulled a crumpled wad of bills from my coat pocket and slapped it onto the counter. "Take the first month. I will pawn my wedding ring this afternoon and bring you the rest."

Vargas stared at the money. He snatched it up and tossed a brass key onto the laminate. "Rent is due on the first. Late fee is fifty bucks. Do not call me to fix the radiator, it rattles when it heats up."

"Thank you."

Vargas walked out, slamming the thin wooden door behind him.

The apartment smelled of stale cigarettes and damp wood. No furniture. Just a stained mattress on the floor and a single window overlooking an alleyway.

I lowered myself onto the mattress. The springs groaned beneath me.

My cheap burner phone buzzed against the floorboards.

I picked it up. "Hello?"

"Did you sign the papers yet?" Damon's voice crackled through the terrible speaker.

"I told your lawyer I am not signing away full custody of my son, Damon."

"You live in a slum, Serena. My investigator gave me the address." He let out a harsh laugh. "You cannot even afford a crib. What judge is going to give you a child?"

"I will fight you."

"With what money? I froze the joint accounts. You have nothing."

"I have a job interview tomorrow."

"You are a week away from your due date. No one is hiring you." Damon's tone turned sharp. "Sign the papers. If you do, I will send you five thousand dollars. You can buy yourself a decent meal."

"Keep your money."

"Mia is redecorating the nursery today," he added, twisting the knife. "She picked out a beautiful mahogany crib for my son. She is going to be a wonderful mother to him."

"Do not let that woman near my baby!" I gripped the phone, my knuckles turning white.

"She is already his mother in every way that counts. Sign the papers, Serena, or I will drag you through court until you are entirely broken."

The line went dead.

I tossed the phone aside and pushed myself up. Pain shot down my legs, sharp and unforgiving.

I needed to see the doctor.

Two hours later, I sat on the crinkling paper of an exam table at the free county clinic.

Dr. Evans pressed a stethoscope to my belly. She frowned, moving the metal disk an inch to the left.

"His heart rate is elevated," Dr. Evans said. "And you have lost three pounds since last week. You are supposed to be gaining weight, Serena."

"I am eating," I lied.

"Crackers and tap water do not count." She pulled the stethoscope away and crossed her arms. "Your blood pressure is dangerously high. Are you getting any rest?"

"I sleep."

"On a floor?" She pointed at the dark circles under my eyes. "Your back is entirely knotted. You are exhausted. This level of stress is going to trigger early labor."

"I can handle it."

"Your body cannot." Dr. Evans grabbed a clipboard. "I want to admit you to the hospital for observation."

"No." I slid off the table, grabbing my coat. "I do not have insurance anymore. My husband canceled it."

"Serena, if you have another hemorrhage, you could both die."

"I said no." I buttoned my coat over my stomach. "Just tell me my son is alive."

"He is alive," she said, her voice softening. "But he is fighting just as hard as you are. Do not push yourself to the breaking point."

"I will not."

I walked the twelve blocks back to my apartment. The winter wind bit through my thin coat. Every step sent a jolt of pressure into my pelvis.

By the time I unlocked the door, my legs shook violently.

I collapsed onto the bare mattress. The radiator hissed in the corner, spitting out lukewarm air.

My stomach tightened. A vicious cramp seized my abdomen, forcing a scream from my throat.

I curled onto my side, clutching the fabric of my dress.

"Just a little longer," I whispered to the empty room. "Stay in there. Please."

A heavy knock rattled the door.

I froze.

"Serena!" a woman's voice called out. "Open the door!"

Mia.

I forced myself to sit up. The cramping eased slightly, leaving me gasping for air. "Go away!"

"Damon sent me," Mia yelled through the wood. "Open up, or I will have his security team break the lock."

I dragged myself across the floorboards and twisted the deadbolt.

Mia stood in the hallway, flanked by two massive men in dark suits. She wore a tailored wool coat and a smug smile. Her own belly barely showed beneath the expensive fabric.

"What a dump," she remarked, stepping into the room without an invitation. She pinched her nose. "It smells like garbage."

"Get out of my home."

"I am here for the papers." Mia snapped her fingers. One of the bodyguards handed her a manila envelope. She tossed it onto the mattress. "Damon is tired of waiting. Sign the custody agreement."

"I told him no."

"You do not have a choice." Mia stepped closer, her eyes flashing with malice. "Did you really think you could win? Damon owns the judge. He owns the lawyers. You are a homeless, penniless incubator."

"I will never give my son to a homewrecker."

Mia's hand lashed out. She slapped me across the face.

The sting radiated through my cheek. I stumbled back, hitting the wall.

"Watch your mouth," Mia spat. "I am Mrs. Moreno now. The wedding is next month. Your son will call me Mom, and you will be nothing but a distant, pathetic memory."

I lunged at her.

The two bodyguards stepped forward, grabbing my arms and pinning me against the peeling wallpaper.

"Let me go!" I thrashed, but their grip was iron.

Mia laughed. She reached into her designer purse and pulled out a pen. "Sign the papers, Serena. Or I will have these gentlemen hold you down while I force your hand."

"You are a monster."

"I am a winner." She pressed the pen against my chest. "Now sign."

Before I could spit in her face, a sickening pop echoed in the quiet room.

Warm fluid rushed down my legs, soaking into my shoes and pooling on the wooden floor.

Mia jumped back, her face twisting in disgust. "Ew. What is that?"

A contraction ripped through my body, ten times stronger than the last. The pain blinded me. My knees buckled, and the bodyguards let go, allowing me to crash onto the floorboards.

My son was coming.

And I was trapped with the woman who destroyed my life.