The Baby:The Bride Series

By: S Doyle

1





Ellie



June



You’re probably wondering what I’m doing here sitting on the toilet. No, no, nothing gross or anything. I’m just taking a test. You know… to see if I’m preggers or not.

I’m not going to lie… I’m freaking out about it.

Quick recap.

My dad died when I was almost seventeen, leaving me an orphan. I fake-married Jake, a longtime family friend and our ranch foreman, so I could continue to live and work on my cattle ranch in Montana. Then I fell in love with him. Then he kissed me. Then… Carol happened. Still can’t stand the name Carol to this day. Then I divorced his ass. Not because of Carol really, but because I was still in love with him. But then he fell in love with me. Sort of.

Then I got pregnant.

And there were those five minutes when I thought about not being pregnant. About making myself not pregnant.

I didn’t do it. Looking back on it, I know I could never have done it. Not to Jake’s baby.

I lost the baby. I’d thought it was all my fault. I thought I had lost Jake too, but it turned out he just had serious mommy issues. With good reason. The bitch left him when he was eleven years old and never looked back.

Fortunately he was able to work through those, and we found a way to be together.

Then we got married for real. It really was a beautiful wedding.

That was three years ago.

Being married to Jake ever since has been the best. I mean it was like a nonstop sex fest there in the beginning, which was fun. We were nearly gross with how we couldn’t keep our hands off each other.

People called us the Starbucks Unicorn couple because we were so freaking sweet. (Not that many people here in Riverbend, Montana have ever been to a Starbucks, but they see stuff on the internet.)

Things were great. We had a successful cattle ranch, which we could expand because of the addition of Talley land. We added goats because I always wanted goats. (Don’t get Jake started on the goats!)

Most of all we had each other, and it was more than enough.

Then Christmas happened, and we started talking about what we wanted our future Christmases to look like. You know, with kids running around screaming with anticipation and writing letters to Santa Claus. Christmas cookies and stockings. Getting us up at three a.m. because of how excited they were, and then tearing into gifts in minutes.

We decided we were ready to talk about the future.

Did we want kids?

Definitely.

How many, if we were fortunate enough to have them?

Still up in the air.

After a couple of weeks of haggling, we took the plunge. I tossed the birth control pills. Jake kept on doing what he did best, which was to fill me up in the best sort of ways.

Now six months later I’m sitting on the toilet, seat down, waiting to see if it worked.

I’m afraid it did. I’m afraid it didn’t. I’m afraid if I am pregnant I might lose the baby again. Because let me tell you, that day ranks as one of the shittiest days of my life. And I’ve had a lot of bad ones.

Jake says I shouldn’t be afraid. That it was just one of those things.

Jake has never had a miscarriage.

I think I’m ready to handle this. No matter what happens. Except there really is no way to tell what a person can handle until something does actually happen.

I looked over at the counter, where my phone was ticking down on the timer. The white plastic pee stick sitting there waiting to define my life. Of course I had to drive to Jefferson again. No chance that I could casually pick up one of those bad boys in town without everyone knowing what Jake and I were doing.

Were trying.

It was the same person behind the counter as last time. I’m pretty sure he didn’t recognize me from three years ago. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder if that was a bad omen.

My phone dinged and I practically fell off the seat. My heart was pounding as I stood and picked up the stick.

Positive.

Pregnant.

PREGNANT.

HOLY SHIT PREGNANT!

There it was. I sat back down on the lid and tried to take deep, calming breaths. Then I thought about what to tell Jake.

All I knew was that this time had to be different. Last time, it was like I was giving him the worst news ever. He understood. He knew it was because I was afraid he was going to want to get married… again, which he did, without me knowing if he really loved me. Because back then he hadn’t been able to say it.

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