My throat tightened.
“What do you mean, impossible?”
Diego gave a cold laugh.
“I had a vasectomy two months ago, Laura. I’m not stupid.”
That word hit me like a slap.
Stupid.
That was what the man I had loved for eight years called me.
The same man who had said the surgery was “for us,” because money was tight, because we could “decide later.”
I reminded him the doctor had said it was not immediate.
That follow-up testing was necessary.
That pregnancy could still happen.
But Diego had already stopped listening.
His verdict was already written across his face.
“Who is he?” he asked.
I froze.
“What?”
“The father. Tell me who he is.”
I felt sick.
