Mia
Thursday came like a punch to the gut.
I lay in bed, hand on my stomach, wondering what kind of man Owen really was. What kind of father he could be. What kind of mess I had just handed an unborn child.
By noon, I still hadn’t heard from him. By five, I checked the news. And there it was.
'CARTER & WHITMORE TO WED IN DECEMBER.'
My chest caved in. I had been so stupid. They weren’t just staying together. They were getting married. A date. A venue. A photo of Stacy's diamond ring sparkling beside his smug f*****g smile.
I stared at the screen for a full minute. Then I grabbed my coat. I didn’t knock when I got to his condo. I still had the damn key.
He was in the living room, glass of whiskey in hand, still in his suit.
His eyes widened. “Mia—”
“You set a f*****g date?” My voice
