Fiona woke on couch with a crick in her neck and the faint smell of vanilla candles still clinging to the blanket. Sunlight cut through the half-open blinds in sharp, accusing stripes. She lay there for a long minute, staring at the ceiling cracks ,one hand resting on her stomach. She pressed back gently, needing the reminder that something in her life was still real, still hers, still untouched by earlier wreckage.Her baby her secret.
The secret sat in her chest like a live wire hot, humming, impossible to ignore. She wasn't ready for the questions, the concern, the pity, the judgment. She wasn't ready for the world to know she was carrying Martin Mole's child after one reckless night she couldn't even regret.
She checked her phone—5.10 p.m.No messages from Martin. Just silence.
*Bosses look after their workers.*
