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Chapter 7

LAURA

My mother is the kind of woman who never gets tired of taking care of children, the kind who dedicates her entire youth to selflessly caring for her children, but who is not satisfied with just that. Taking care of her grandchildren, in the same way, is almost as necessary for her as breathing. Such is her need that sometimes her word when it comes to spoiling, imposing, or lifting punishments on the children carries more weight than that of the parents themselves.

This would bother any daughter-in-law; the fact that your mother-in-law has more power over your children, that she wants to take care of them as if she were their mother, and even appear as their mother, would anger and question the daughter-in-law/mother-in-law relationship. However, Kate doesn't care about this. She seems to appreciate it every time she breathes. Certainly, my sister-in-law is a young girl who, due to a few problems with her pregnancies, had to give up many things, including postponing her career.

Now that her children are older, she thanks my mother for the time and affection she gives them while she finishes university and my brother works alongside my father.

I've been analyzing all of this all day, sitting on the high stool at the kitchen island, with my fingers on the coffee cup that I constantly refill, and my eyes fixed on the children my mother keeps calm while she strives, alongside an employee, to prepare desserts and dinner. Liam and Antonella are unruly children; they don't know how to sit still. But even so, my mother manages to keep them calm, sitting at a small children's table.

"That's enough," my mother's voice fills my ears, making me look up into her eyes when her hand lands on my cup. "Now I understand why you can't sleep." She takes the cup from me and takes it to the sink, making me sigh. "Who else could drink coffee the way she does?" She jokes with the employee, who laughs along.

"Aunt Liliam, what happened to your hair?" Liam asks with a teasing tone, making me turn my head over my shoulder as he and Antonella burst into laughter.

Liliam, who looks more like a zombie than a first-time mother, enters the kitchen with her baby in her arms, giving her nephew a feigned look of annoyance, which only increases the children's laughter.

Will I become like Liliam when...?

The current that overwhelms my chest with that mere thought silences my subconscious. If she looks like that, with the help of mom, Kate, me, and even our father and brother, how the hell am I going to look, being on the other side of the country and only accompanied by a man who is only dealing with this out of obligation?

"When you become a father, I swear I'll pinch your baby so that they cry all day, and your pretty curly hair will look like a rat's nest." She jokes with the little one while her daughter starts to sob, and everyone's laughter wakes her up.

Liliam pouts, indicating that she is about to sell her soul to the devil, and that's when my mother comes to her rescue, taking the baby from her arms, and comforting both her and Liliam. She asks her to sit down, brings her hot chocolate, and all this without allowing the baby to utter a single whimper.

I rest my head on the counter, closing my eyes and reconsidering the whole situation. I'm not a mother, I'm more like Liliam in all of this.

And what if everything goes wrong? How bad can it be to stay at home after announcing that I'll have a child and that this child won't have a father?

Because I'd rather leave, far away, before telling my family that I slept with a stranger, who turned out to be the new partner in their company, and we didn't use protection, and now I'm pregnant with his child.

How many years would I go to hell for having an abortion? A lifetime for sparing an innocent baby a pathetic mother?

"How long has she eaten?" my mother asks without stopping to hold the baby in her arms.

Liliam separates her lips from the white cup and looks at the wall clock that adorns the kitchen.

"She's due for her next bottle at eight," she clarifies, and the mention of the time brings to mind the memory of lips indicating the same hour.

I immediately lift my head, my eyes wide open, scanning the children eating cookies while playing on their tablets, Liliam enjoying a cup of chocolate without the sound of her daughter's crying in the background, and my mother looking at me with furrowed eyebrows. The employee laughed at my expression, and finally, the square clock shone above their heads.

7:30 p.m.

Excusing myself for the silly idea of having forgotten a skirt at Valeria's house, I almost fly to my room, grab a coat, and immediately head to the car. With my heart pounding in my throat, I leave the house, heading straight to the airport.

My nerves increase with each passing second, with each meter I advance, and with each building that indicates I'm getting closer to the airport. The anxiety is killing me; there are so many things that I don't even know how to breathe properly anymore. I fear Johny's words, and I also fear that once I finish talking to him, I have to go back home and face my family.

When I arrive at the airport, I look for a place to park and quickly walk into the building. The airport doors open automatically, and I enter in a hurry. The place is crowded, and it only increases my anxiety and suffocation.

I wander around for about five minutes until a hand grabbing my arm makes me turn around startled, finding Smith's serious gaze.

He looks at me for a brief fraction of a second, and then, without saying anything else, he makes me walk to an airport café.

"I..." I stammer as we take a seat and his eyes meet mine with intensity. "Let's just get this over with quickly," I whisper, lowering my gaze.

"Here." is the first thing he says, dragging a new cell phone across the table, and placing it within my sight. "It's for staying connected. Don't call me from any other phone except this one. You will only use it to call me. Do you understand?" I nod, taking the insistent phone.

"Perfectly," I respond seriously.

"What have you done about moving to Los Angeles?" he asks with interest.

"I just bought a house," I say, avoiding his gaze as he insists on eye contact.

"What does your family think about that? When are you going to Los Angeles?" he asks again, and I become more uncomfortable in my place.

"I haven't told my family anything yet. Not about moving to Los Angeles or that I'm going to have a baby," I continue to whisper. "And I'll be leaving for Los Angeles on Monday morning."

"I see. The jet will depart in a few minutes. I have to go. I'll call you as soon as I arrive to see how things are going, alright?" I nod as he stands up and without further ado, grabs his laptop bag and starts walking.

When he disappears from my sight, I get up and walk to my car. I get in and drive back home.

The closer I get, the faster my heart beats. It's accompanied by an overwhelming urge to vomit and the tears that keep building up more and more.

"Calm down, Laura. Maybe you're overreacting a bit," I tell myself in a low attempt to calm my nerves and the tears that threaten to escape.

But I'm sure I'm not exaggerating at all. I know very well they won't react well.

I arrive and park the car, staying inside for a few minutes, reconsidering the first idea that crossed my mind when Johnny told me to go to Los Angeles: to tell them I'm moving to Los Angeles without revealing that I'm pregnant and tell them once I'm already settled in California.

"Not a bad idea after all."

"That would be very cowardly of you," I whisper. "Enough! Just do it already, end this quickly," I encourage myself, giving myself the strength to get out of the car and enter the house.

I get out, taking the cell phone Johnny gave me and the keys. I walk until I reach the front door and open it. In the living room, I find Mom and Dad sitting side by side, Alejandro with Kate, Liliam, and Louis, the latter holding a sleeping Sophia in his arms. My nerves grow even more if that's possible.

"G-g-good evening," I greet audibly in a whisper, with my gaze lowered.

"Good evening," they respond in unison.

I stand in the middle of the hallway, with tears in my eyes. I've opened my mouth a couple of times, but nothing comes out. Mom gets up from her seat and is now hugging me, while the others look at me with concern.

"What's wrong, Laura? Why are you like this?" my brother asks.

The question makes my chest burn, and the tears flow uncontrollably.

"What's happening, honey?" my father inquires, worried.

"I'm pregnant," I blurt out before I can even finish speaking, tactlessly. Everyone looks at me in surprise, and my mother's body tenses next to me. She immediately separates from me.

My brother and father stand up, and the expression in their eyes is no longer surprising but angry.

"What?" my father murmurs, astonished. "What the hell did you say, Laura?" he shouts, startling all of us.

Liliam runs towards me and hugs me.

"I'm pregnant, Dad," I correct, trying not to cry.

"Damn it!" he shouts again, this time hitting the glass coffee table in the hallway with great force, shattering it on the floor.

"I'm going to kill Gareth, I'll do it now!" my brother yells, burning with anger and heading towards the door.

"Gareth is not the father," I clarify with a broken voice before he even leaves. He stops abruptly and turns towards me, just like my father, who was facing away from me.

My mother cries, Liliam just keeps hugging me, and as for Kate and Louis, they have disappeared; they're no longer where I found them.

"What do you mean Gareth is not the father?" my father asks, disappointment, anger, and frustration palpable in his gaze, and of all those emotions, the disappointment hurts the most.

"No, Father, Gareth is not the father of my baby," the dull thud of Alejandro's fist hitting the wall silences me immediately, making me focus on him and his broken knuckles, causing my mother to rush towards him, trying to stop him.

"Who is the father, Laura?" my father asks, trying not to yell. I lower my gaze and say nothing. "You won't tell me who the father is?"

I shake my head, and he curses.

"Perfect," he says with disappointment and pain in his words. "You have one week to get out of my house."

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