— So you’re pregnant?
The man asks casually, leaning against the doorframe and blocking my way into the apartment.
— Yes, — I nod on an exhale and press my lips together. I of course knew he wouldn’t be happy about this news, and I wasn’t thrilled either, but I didn’t expect him to be so cold with me.
— From me?
— Yes.
— How far along?
— Eight weeks.
— Great attempt, baby—only one thing is wrong: I’m seeing you for the first time in my life, and I haven’t been in the country for three months. So stop this “breakup” talk—I’m definitely not falling for that.