Her Baby Plays Cupid

Zachary Moore's POV Dublin, Ireland The pounding early afternoon rain matched my mood as I walked away from the house that had been my home for the first eighteen years of my life. Now, at the age of twenty-seven I finally accept that no one and nothing I thought I had was really mine. Not how it counted. My parents, who doted on my golden child younger brother had once again picked him, with his selfish entitled wants and desires, over me. The parents who were now telling me to 'be the bigger person', suck it up, offer my support to my brother and the woman he was going to marry. That same brother who stood there with his arms around my fiance, a sneer on his face, claiming her for his own. My fiance, correction, ex-fiance, standing by his side, boldly telling me that she hadn't meant to fall in love with Sean, but it just happened. That she hoped I would understand and support their relationship, and the baby they were expecting. Finally admitting the two of them had been cheating with each other behind my back for the past six months, the whole time I had been in London working my ass off to build a financial future for her and me. I nodded, held out my hand and said, "give me back my ring". The look on her face was priceless, almost like she hadn't expected that response. She stood there staring at me. "But," she started her bullshit, but I just wiggled my fingers in a 'hurry up' motion, unwilling to entertain her drama. I should have known she wouldn't want to give relinquish the two-carat diamond ring, but too bad, so sad. Reluctantly, she slipped it off her finger and flung it at me. I caught it mid-flight, tucking it into my pocket. With an icy stare, and a dead calm voice I spoke. Words I should have said months ago. Years ago. "We are done. You are dead to me. f**k you all." Then I turned and left that house, closing the door with a quiet finality. Walked away with my head held high, my shoulders straight, determination in every step. I got in my car and drove away, never once looking back. Leah Turner’s POV Later on that same day, in Toronto,Canada Frantic pounding of a fist on the apartment door caused me to jump. My friend, Carly Sanchez, called loudly, spurring me to action. "Leah, get your purse, we need to go. Jake has been shot. Greg is with him at the hospital. Hurry up.” Twenty words that changed my life forever. The drive to the hospital in the back of an unmarked police vehicle, siren blaring, the headlights flashing, Carly holding my hand in a tight grip, my mind filled with questions. Questions that had to wait to be asked and answered. At the hospital, we were met by another member of the squad who swiftly whisked us up to the waiting area outside the OR. A place crowded with both off-duty and on-duty officers, one of them being the police chief. That was unusual. What the f**k is going on? No one was saying anything, but the looks the officers exhanged were telling. Greg came over immediately and wrapped his arms around both Carly and I. He was shaking with emotion and his voice was hoarse as he gave me an update. "Jake's in surgery. God, Leah, he's lost so much blood. I couldn't stop the bleeding no matter what I did. I am so, so sorry." The wait was a long one, but came to an end when the door to the surgical theatre was opened by a doctor in a blood-stained surgical gown. He looked exhausted and defeated. His eyes darted around searching the faces of everyone present before coming to rest on my pale tear-stained face. “Are you Mrs. Leah Turner?” he asked, his voice filled with sympathy. “The wife of Officer Jake Turner?” I nodded my head, fearing the worst while hoping for the best. “I am so very sorry, Mrs. Turner. We did everything we could, but the damage was too great. He lost too much blood. Your husband died at 10:15 p.m. My condolences.” With those words dropped on me like a bomb, he turned and went back into the OR. I didn’t hear anything else over the roaring in my ears. My vision went black, and I felt myself falling. The sound of beeping roused me. I slowly opened my eyes to discover I was laying on a hospital bed in a semi-dark room, hooked up to monitors. The soft murmur of voices let me know I wasn’t alone. “Jake,” I called out in a raspy voice, my throat dry. Carly’s face suddenly loomed over me, and I felt her take my hand. “Leah, you’re finally awake. I was so worried about you. Greg and I are here.” “Where’s Jake?” I questioned. “Why isn’t he here?” “Oh, Leah, honey. Jake’s gone. I am so very, very sorry,” she cried, her big fat tears dripping onto my face. Then it hit me like the waves of a tsunami rushing in to sweep away everything good we had built, the dreams we had, the love we shared. All swept away in one towering wave that left devastation in its wake. Jake, my Jake, my husband of barely six months was gone. Dead. I would never hold him again. Never kiss him, make love with him, build a future with him. He was gone, and I was left alone to mourn him. Great wracking sobs shook my body, the pain searing into my very soul, leaving my heart scarred by the loss of the man I had loved since what felt like forever. Jake was gone and I had nothing left. The pain of his loss was so great that I found it hard to catch my breath. My chest tightened, the physical pain so great that I thought I was having a heart attack. Carly pressed the call button summoning the night nurse who came running. “Mrs. Turner, you need to calm down.” The nurse instructed. As if telling someone to calm down ever really worked. “She just lost her husband how do you expect her to calm down?” Carly growled at the nurse in frustration. “Can’t you give her a sedative to help?” The nurse’s expression immediately became one of concern and sympathy. “I am so very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Turner. I didn’t realize. I just came on shift. But you need to calm yourself. You don’t want to hurt the baby.” “Baby? What baby?” Carly gasped. “Mrs. Turner’s baby, of course. Didn’t she tell you?” “I’m pregnant?” I stammered; my voice still choked with tears. “You didn’t know? You’re approximately nine weeks according to the hCG levels in your blood work.” The nurse’s revelation brought me up short. Nine weeks pregnant? “I had no idea. My periods have never been regular. I sometimes go months without having one.” I muttered trying to figure out when I could have gotten pregnant. I thought back to Jake and my delayed two-week honeymoon trip to the Maldives in early March. The timing would mean I must have gotten pregnant during our last week there. I swore I had packed my birth control pills, but found they had gone missing, and we resorted to using condoms. A couple of times the condom had broken, but we figured the chance of me getting pregnant was few and far between. My irregular monthly cycles made the likelyhood of me getting pregnant faint. Or so I thought. Apparently not. I began to weep, not the gut-wrenching sobs of earlier, but a much quieter expression of my grief. I wept for the husband and life together that we had lost. Wept for the child who would never know its father, and the changed life I now faced. When I was all out of tears I looked at Greg. “Where is Jake? I want, no, I need to see him.” My voice was dull and flat. He didn't argue, knowing I would have to officially identify Jake's body. Instead, he looked around as if checking to see if there was anyone listening or watching. He must have been reassured, because he faced me and began signing in ASL, something the four of us had learned to do in university. It’s best if we don’t talk about this here, or where anyone can see or hear us. Can we go to your place of work and use the secure room? My place of work? Graystone Security? Where I worked as a lawyer in their legal department? Again, what the f**k is going on? Something was off. Even in shock as I am, my legal training pushed forward. I need to get released; I signed back. Greg, I’ll need you and Carly to be with me. Something tells me I need to get full body pictures of my husband. We’ll take them with her phone and upload them to the Graystone Security server. Both Carly and I worked for Graystone Security. Me in legal, her in investigations. Our husbands worked for the City of Toronto police department and were partners, patrolling the streets of the city in their cruiser. Both were recently promoted to Detective and were scheduled to start their new positions effective June first. Jake had worked and studied hard to pass the detective exam, especially since I had promised him that once he made detective, we could start our family. Now, a little more than a week away from starting his new job, he was dead, leaving me nine weeks pregnant. Alanis Morissette couldn’t have said it better. Isn’t it Ironic?