My brain exploded at the supermarket. One minute I was arguing with my three-month-old about how many grapes she could stick in her tiny mouth and the next minute I was staring at the face of the father of my child.
The guy ghosted me after I told him I was pregnant. I sent him texts, called him and even posted a certified letter but received zero response. While he was down for the baby-making activities, he had zero desire to accept the consequences.
So I did what any other like-minded woman would’ve done in my position. I reached into my cart and started hurling things at him.
To my surprise, he not only paid for the damage but followed me home. Now, he’s telling me he never got my messages or my letter and that he’s ready to be a father.
He’s patching drywall, doing the laundry, and carrying the trash to the curb, and I’m remembering what it was like when he was loving me every night. A few heated stares and a few brushes of his hand against mine and my long-dormant female parts are roaring to life. Everyone’s going to think I’m a few French fries short of a Happy Meal if I let him back into my life, but my heart can’t keep asking what if…
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