The Son Who Chose Another Mother Just Walked Into My Interview Room

I kept my hand pressed flat against my stomach as I descended the courthouse steps. The concrete felt solid beneath my low heels. I didn't look back at the heavy glass doors.

Twenty minutes later, I walked into Grace's corner office. The skyline of the city sprawled out behind her, framed by floor-to-ceiling windows.

Grace looked up from her laptop, her eyebrows raising. She set her reading glasses on the polished mahogany desk.

"Lydia," she said, glancing at the clock on her wall. "I didn't expect to see you until tomorrow. How did the hearing go?"

I pulled the thick parchment from my purse. The corner was bent, creased right over the bolded salary figure from the gust of wind outside the courthouse. I smoothed the crease flat with my thumb and slid the document across her desk.

"I'm in," I told her.

Grace stared at the paper. She picked up a silver pen, rolling it between her fingers. "You sure? You told me last night you needed time to think. A venture capital partnership isn't exactly a nine-to-five gig."

"I have time now," I said.

"What about Caleb? You said he needed constant supervision for his exams."

"He doesn't need me anymore." I pulled out the chair opposite her and sat down. "I just relinquished full custody to Desmond."

Grace stopped rolling the pen. She stared at me, searching my face for a crack, a tear, anything.

"You gave him up?" she asked softly.

"I dropped a fifteen-year gamble," I replied, my voice steady. "My hands are free now."

I reached across the desk, took the silver pen from her fingers, and signed my name on the bottom line of the offer letter. The ink flowed smoothly.

Grace watched me cap the pen. "You spent two grand a month on that kid's tutors, Lydia. You set alarms for five in the morning every day."

"And now I get to sleep in," I said. "And I get to keep my money."

She leaned back in her leather chair, a slow smile forming on her lips. "Welcome to the firm, partner. We start Monday."

"I'll be here," I promised.

I left the office and drove back to my empty apartment. The silence in the hallway greeted me as I unlocked the front door. No shoes kicked carelessly against the baseboards. No television blaring from the living room.

I walked straight to the small desk in the corner of my bedroom. Opening the bottom drawer, I pulled out a stack of manila folders.

I found the bank receipt from nine years ago.

Four hundred and eighty thousand.

That was the exact amount I had borrowed against my pre-marital two-bedroom apartment. Desmond's factory had been weeks away from bankruptcy. I had signed my safety net away to plug the holes in his sinking ship.

I placed the receipt flat on the desk. Next to it, I set the final divorce decree Judge Miller had handed me an hour ago.

Two pieces of paper. They summarized sixteen years of my life.

I slid them both back into the drawer.

Later that night, I sat on the cold tile floor of my bathroom, my back pressed against the bathtub. The fluorescent light buzzed overhead.

I stared at the plastic stick in my hand.

Two pink lines.

I had known for a few days, but seeing it again solidified the reality. Two months pregnant.

Desmond's child.

I traced the edge of the plastic with my thumbnail. Desmond didn't want another child. He barely wanted the one he had. He just wanted to win.

"You'll never know them," I whispered to the empty room.

I stood up, wrapping the pregnancy test in a thick layer of toilet paper. I walked back into the bedroom and opened the bottom drawer of my desk.

I shoved the wrapped bundle all the way to the back, right on top of the bank receipt for four hundred and eighty thousand dollars.

I pushed the drawer shut. The lock clicked into place, securing the two secrets side by side in the dark.