Unexpectedly Expecting || BWWM

Two weeks ago, I woke up to the sound of my phone buzzing on the nightstand. Groaning, I reached for it, squinting at the screen to see Zyla's name flashing. I answered, barely awake, only to be greeted by her loud, panicked voice.

"You're having a baby with Dean Keller?! Like, the richest—and sleaziest—guy ever?" she exclaimed.

"What? Who told you that?" I mumbled, still trying to convince myself this wasn't a dream as I sat up in bed.

"It's all over the internet! Your face and your belly are everywhere. There's a picture of you and Dean Keller walking into an ultrasound clinic! Oh my God, he looks like he's in love with you! Are you guys dating? You do know he has a fiancée, right?"

Her words came rapid-fire, like bullets I wasn't prepared to dodge.

"Zyla, those pictures weren't supposed to be leaked," I said, my voice thick with disbelief. "Listen, I'll come over to Mom's later, okay? We'll talk about everything then."

"You better. I can't believe you didn't tell me!" she huffed, her tone laced with betrayal.

"I'm sorry," I said quickly. "I'll explain everything later."

I was about to hang up when Zyla spoke again, her voice softer but more insistent.

"Wait! Before you head to Mom's, pack a bag and plan to stay for a while. The media is going to find your apartment next. You know how relentless they are. It's better if you're somewhere safe."

She had a point, but my stubbornness flared. I'd convinced myself I could handle this on my own, that I didn't need to uproot my life.

"I'll think about it. Bye, Zyla," I said, hanging up before she could argue further.

Just as I set my phone down, it buzzed again. A text from Dean.

Dean: Go stay with your mother.

The message was short and commanding, lacking the warmth he'd tried to infuse into his words in the past. He didn't even bother with a "please" this time.

It was the second nudge I needed. Sighing, I packed a bag and headed out, hoping to slip away unnoticed. But as soon as I stepped outside my apartment building, a man with a camera and a recorder approached me.

"Ms. Davis, I'm with Public Entertainment. Can I ask you a few questions?"

"No, thank you," I said quickly, walking faster.

"How far along are you? Did Dean Keller cheat on Vanessa Whitmore with you?" he pressed, his questions slicing through my already frayed nerves.

I stopped, spun around, and pointed a finger at him. "If you ask me one more question, I'll call the police. This is private property."

He smirked but raised his hands in mock surrender, backing off just enough to let me escape. My heart raced as I hurried to my car, checking over my shoulder the entire way.

When I finally arrived at my mom's house, she opened the door and pulled me into a tight hug.

"Are you okay? Did anyone come to your apartment?" she asked, her eyes scanning my face with concern.

"I'm fine. There was only one reporter, and I managed it," I said, trying to sound braver than I felt.

Her hands lingered on my shoulders as she studied me, her brows furrowing. "You look so tired, Ry. Come inside. Let me take care of you for a little while."

I followed her into the kitchen, where she immediately set about making tea. The familiarity of her movements—the way she reached for the sugar, the quiet clink of the spoon against the cup—was a comfort I didn't realize I needed.