“Are fools,” he said bluntly. “Truly. Now, let’s get you settled. Michael’s flight gets in at two tomorrow. His mother is flying in as well. She’s already bought out half of Chicago’s baby stores, I’m afraid.”
I laughed despite everything.
“She doesn’t even know if it’s a boy or girl.”
“Doesn’t matter to Margaret. She’s been waiting for grandchildren since Michael graduated high school.”
I woke in a bed that felt like clouds, in a room decorated in shades of blue that probably had fancy names. The blue suite was bigger than most apartments, with its own sitting area and a bathroom that belonged in a spa.
My phone showed missed calls from three unknown numbers and one from my sister Rebecca in Portland. I’d deal with those later.
A soft knock interrupted my thoughts.
“Come in,” I called, expecting Maria.
Instead, Margaret Hastings entered, looking impeccable despite apparently taking a redeye flight.
“Laura.”
She rushed over, pulling me into a careful hug, mindful of my bump.
“I’m so sorry we’re meeting like this. I wanted to fly out for graduation, but Robert said you two were keeping things quiet.”
“Mrs. Hastings—”
“Margaret, please. Or Mom eventually, if you’re comfortable.”
She sat on the bed, studying me with kind eyes.
“How are you feeling? Morning sickness still?”
“Sometimes. It’s better now.”
“And emotionally? Michael told us what happened.”
“I’m processing. It feels surreal. Yesterday I had parents. Today I don’t.”
Margaret took my hand.
“You have us. I know it’s not the same, but you have us.”
A knock interrupted. Michael this time, looking tired from his flight, but lighting up when he saw me.
“I’ll give you two some privacy,” Margaret said, kissing my forehead before leaving. “But we’re going shopping later. No arguments.”
Michael pulled me into his arms the second the door closed.
“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”
“It wouldn’t have changed anything. Maybe made it worse.”
“I wanted to take the first flight out when you called.”
“Your interview was important.”
“Not more important than you.”
He pulled back, studying my face.
“Dad said you were worried about his job, about using our relationship.”
“I was. Am. Michael, when he finds out, he’ll do what he always does. Try to find an angle.”
“Dad’s ready for it.”
We spent the morning planning. The wedding we talked about would move up. A small ceremony before I started work.
“Unless you want to wait,” Michael said carefully. “Have the big wedding we planned.”
“I want to be your wife,” I said simply. “The rest is just details.”
That afternoon, Margaret took me shopping. Not for baby things. We had time for that. But for clothes that actually fit my changing body, comfortable shoes, prenatal vitamins. She chatted easily as we browsed, sharing stories about her own pregnancies, making me feel normal for the first time in days.
“I understand you kept the relationship secret because of your father’s position,” she said over lunch. “That shows remarkable judgment for someone so young.”
“Or paranoia,” I said dryly.
“Protective instinct,” she corrected. “You were protecting Michael, protecting your father’s job, protecting yourself. Very lawyerly, actually.”
“My parents didn’t see it that way. They didn’t see anything but the scandal.”
“Then they’re blind. Their loss is our gain.”
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