Ch. Sorry Hayden, I’m Seven Months Pregnant with Another Man’s Baby 64 Sorry Hayden, I’m Seven Months Pregnant with Another Man’s Baby 64

Chapter 6 

couldn’t stop them. Dad grabbed the photos, and Mom and Sam crowded around to see. 

I moved closer, dreading what they’d see. The photos showed every bruise on my body, some the size of 

quarters, others stretching across my ribs and back. 

In addition to the marks from coat hangers, charging cables, and broom handles, there were cigarette burns, puncture wounds, and knife cuts. 

Dad’s breath came faster and faster as he stared at the damage. Mom shoved the photos away, her voice 

distant and confused. “I didn’t do this. These aren’t from me. Who-who would do this to her?” 

Sam’s eyes were bloodshot, raw with rage. “Who the hell did this? I’ll kill them!” 

This wasn’t supposed to happen. I’d jumped so they could move on, not dig deeper into my life. I pressed 

myself into the corner, my voice barely a whisper. “Please don’t look into this. Just forget about me and be 

happy.” 

After that night, they became obsessed with finding out what had happened to me. Mom sank back into the 

worst depths of her depression. 

She clutched my photo to her chest and locked herself in her bedroom, crying for hours. The same two 

words on repeat: “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” 

It reminded me of when I was a baby-how she’d hurt me and then slump beside the crib, begging my forgiveness. Now she couldn’t bring herself to leave the room. 

Every corner of the apartment held memories of me-the kitchen where I’d made breakfast, the living room 

I’d cleaned, the bathroom where I’d scrubbed the floors. All those years, and I’d only been six. 

Most six-year-olds are still learning to tie their shoes, still climbing into their parents’ laps for comfort. I’d learned to read her moods before I could even walk, learned to make myself invisible. 

I taught myself not to cry in front of her, not to ask for snacks or ask to watch TV, or reach for toys. From the moment I could crawl, I understood-stay out of her way or she’d make me regret it. 

As I got older, I took on the chores. I’d move through the apartment each day without a sound, cleaning 

everything I could reach. 

Sometimes Mom would say things that made Dad wince, but I was too young to catch the edge in her voice. I 

thought she was being nice, that she was proud of me. It made me so happy I could barely stand it. 

Mom stopped eating, stopped drinking. It was worse than after I was born-in less than a week, she looked 

like a ghost of herself. 

One night Dad came home exhausted and found the apartment empty. No sign of Mom anywhere. 

He tore through every room, calling her name with rising panic. He found her in the bathtub. 

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She was lying in water that had turned dark red, my photo clutched against her chest. Dad didn’t let himself feel anything yet. He just got her to the hospital, Sam running alongside us. 

By the time Mom was stable enough to talk, Dad and Sam looked hollowed out from days without sleep. Mom’s eyes were dry, empty. 

Her eyes stared at nothing, her voice flat and lifeless. “Just let me die. I need to see Lily. I need to tell her I’m 

sorry.” 

The slap echoed through the room. Dad’s palm connected with her cheek, snapping her head to the side. “You want to make it up to her? Then help us find out who did this!” 

“You don’t get to take the easy way out! Stop trying to kill yourself and help us get her justice!” 

Dad’s chest rose and fell, his breathing ragged. Lily was dead, his wife was trying to follow, and he’d let it all 

happen. 

Dad’s hair had gone gray practically overnight. I tried to wrap my arms around him from behind, even 

knowing he couldn’t feel it. “Please stop, Dad. I’m not in pain anymore.” 

“I’m so sorry. I thought dying would make things better, not worse.” 

Dad went very still. Then he tilted his head, almost like he could feel me there, and pressed it against where 

mine would be. 

His voice came out quiet, almost like a prayer. “Hang on a little longer, sweetheart. I failed you when you 

were alive. Let me do this one thing for you now.” 

When Dad woke up the next morning, Mom was in the kitchen. She looked like hell, but she’d put on clean 

clothes and was making breakfast. 

“Go to work. I’ll head to the school and ask about Lily.” 

It didn’t go well. She spent all day asking questions and got nowhere. The crowds of parents and students 

made her head spin, her chest tighten. 

She pushed through the panic attack and demanded access to the security footage. They threatened to call 

security, looking at her like she was unhinged. 

Mrs. Baker finally stepped in and helped Mom to her feet. Her voice had lost its accusatory edge. 

“Mrs. Evans, I loved Lily too. She was a good kid.” Mrs. Baker’s voice softened. “I can’t force the school to 

investigate, but I’ll ask around. See what I can find out for you.” 

“Go home and rest. I’ll be in touch.” 

Mom didn’t have any other options. They’d hit a wall with nowhere left to turn. 

Then the doorbell rang. The person standing on the other side was the last one they expected to see. 

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