Chapter 44

Donna's Pov.

My mother's gaze held mine with an intensity that made me squirm. "Donna, I asked you a question," she repeated, her voice low but laced with a steely edge. "How long have you been pregnant?"

The world seemed to tilt on its axis. How did she know? My cheeks burned, and I stammered out a denial, desperately hoping Lorena would jump in and divert the conversation. But Lorena remained silent, her brow furrowed in concern.

Mom wasn't buying it. She pushed herself off the couch, her movements sharp. "You know exactly what I'm talking about, Donna," she said, her voice rising. "Tell me. Now!"

Panic clawed at my throat. "Mom, I'm not pregnant," I choked out, clinging to the flimsy lie. "I'm just sick."

"Sick?" Her voice crackled with disbelief. "You fell ill the moment Lorena opened that platter of fish sticks, is that it?"

Guilt gnawed at me. "Yes," I mumbled, feeling trapped.

"Do you think I'm a fool, Donna?" Her voice had reached a roar, echoing through the spacious suite. Shame washed over me as I realized she saw right through me.

She took a deep breath, trying to regain control. "I never told you this," she said, her voice softer now, "but all the women in our family, from my grandmother to my mother and me, have a strange allergy. Whenever we're pregnant, fish makes us sick. It's practically in our DNA."

Her words hung heavy in the air. "And you," she continued, her gaze unwavering, "are a terrible liar, Donna. So tell me the truth, now."

The weight of her words, the undeniable truth in her eyes, cornered me. I couldn't lie anymore. Tears welled up in my eyes, spilling over as a choked sob escaped my lips. "Yes, Mom," I confessed, my voice barely a whisper. "I'm pregnant. You caught me. Are you happy now?"

Her face remained stoic. "How far along are you?" she asked, her voice devoid of emotion.

Hesitantly, I mumbled, "Six weeks. It's six weeks."

"I am guessing your boyfriend Charlie is the father?" She asked, looking at me intently.

I didn't know how to lie to her without being caught. I paused for a moment, and that was all she needed to realize Charlie wasn't the father.

"Who is the father, Donna?" she demanded.

The silence stretched, thick with unspoken emotions. She spoke again, her voice surprisingly calm. "Who is it, Donna?"

Tears streamed down my face as despair choked my voice. "It doesn't matter," I whispered. "I can't keep it. I'm not ready."

Mom's jaw clenched. "That," she declared firmly, "is not an option, honey. You're having this baby."

"Mom, it's my choice!" I protested, my voice rising in frustration. "I have a career to focus on! I'm not ready to be a mother!"

"No grandchild of mine will be aborted, Donna," she said, her voice filled with an ironclad resolve that I hadn't seen in years. "You hear me?"

But her words fell on deaf ears. Consumed by fear and overwhelmed by the sudden weight of the situation, I did the only thing I could think of. With tears blurring my vision, I bolted past them, leaving a trail of unspoken words and hurt feelings in my wake. I slammed the elevator doors shut, seeking refuge from the storm I'd created, descending down to the unknown.

****************

The cool night air slapped me in the face as I exited the elevator. My tear-streaked vision blurred the manicured hotel garden, a stark contrast to the turmoil inside me. Sinking onto a deserted bench, I buried my face in my hands, allowing fresh sobs to wrack my body.

Minutes bled into what felt like an eternity before a gentle touch startled me. I whipped around, heart hammering against my ribs, to find Louis hovering beside the bench.

"Hey, it's me," he said, his voice laced with concern.

"Louis!" I gasped, wiping haphazardly at my eyes. "You scared the living daylights out of me."

"Sorry about that," he said, his brow furrowed. "But why are you crying? Is everything alright?"

"It's nothing," I mumbled, forcing a smile. "I am just having a bad night."

"Really?" His gaze softened. "There's something you're not saying, isn't there?"

Why was everyone seeing through me today? Did I suddenly become a walking billboard of my emotions? I wanted to disappear, to melt into the cool stone bench.

"It's nothing I can't handle," I mumbled, opting for escape. "How about you? How are things going? Scandal and all?"

He studied me for a long moment, a flicker of frustration crossing his features. "You're changing the subject, aren't you?" he sighed. "It’s fine. I'm getting by. But seeing you now makes me happy, even though you are clearly not happy."

My heart skipped a beat. "I have some issues I need to sort out," I managed, my voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes held mine, a silent question hanging between us. For a moment, I felt myself drawn to him, he smelled so nice, a yearning for comfort swirling within me. He leaned in, the space between us closing rapidly. Before I could react, his lips met mine.

The kiss was electric, a jolt of something I couldn't quite define. It was a desperate search for solace, a fleeting escape from the storm raging inside me. However, as quickly as it started, it ended. I pulled away, gasping for breath.

"Louis, what are we doing?" I whispered, my voice thick with confusion.

"I don't know," he admitted, his eyes searching mine. "I just… I can't help myself when I'm around you. It is just so hard."

Another kiss, this time initiated by me. It felt instinctive, a desperate grasp at something familiar in the midst of chaos. But just as quickly, I tore myself away, leaving him speechless on the bench. Guilt gnawed at me, but the overwhelming need to escape was stronger.

With a burst of adrenaline, I sprinted back towards the hotel, the echo of my retreating footsteps swallowed by the night. As I reached the lobby, a familiar figure caught my eye. Charlie. My stomach lurched. What was he doing here, tonight?