Chapter 57

Chapter 57
Chapter 57
SOPHIA
The pharmacy was busier than I'd expected for a Wednesday afternoon. I stood in the family planning aisle, staring at rows of birth control options, and tried to ignore the judgment I felt radiating from the elderly woman browsing vitamins nearby.

I grabbed a box of pills—the kind you took daily, the kind that would prevent any accidents from the reckless way Lucas and I had been having sex—and made my way to the checkout counter.

The cashier was young, maybe eighteen, and didn't even blink as she rang up my purchase. "That'll be forty-three fifty."

I handed over my card, trying not to think about how this simple transaction felt like a betrayal. Like I was actively working against something Lucas might want, might be hoping for, even if he'd never said it out loud.

But I couldn't trap him. Couldn't tie him to me permanently with a child he hadn't chosen to have. Not when our entire relationship was built on a contract with an expiration date.

The cashier handed me my bag, and I hurried out before I could change my mind.

Back in the car, Luke glanced at me in the rearview mirror. "Home, Mrs. Davenport?"

"Actually, can we stop by that children's furniture store on Madison? I want to look at bedroom sets for Adam."

Luke's face lit up—he'd been just as excited as Martha and the rest of the staff about Adam joining us. "Of course. The one with the dinosaur displays in the window?"

"That's the one."

We drove through midtown traffic while I clutched my pharmacy bag and tried to reconcile the competing desires warring inside me. Part of me wanted to throw the pills away, let nature take its course, see if a pregnancy would make Lucas want to keep me. The other part—the rational, self-preserving part—knew that was insane.

I couldn't baby-trap a man who'd already done so much for me. Who'd saved my brother's life. Who'd given me everything I'd needed without asking for anything I wasn't already contractually obligated to provide.

Even if I was desperately, stupidly in love with him.

The furniture store was overwhelming in the best way. Bright colors and whimsical designs, entire bedroom sets themed around everything from outer space to jungle animals. I wandered through the displays, trying to imagine what Adam would like.

He'd been four when the accident happened, barely starting to develop real preferences beyond "trucks are cool" and "dinosaurs are scary but also cool." Would he still like the same things? Or had the year in a coma changed him somehow?

"Can I help you find something?" A saleswoman approached, her smile professional and warm.

"I'm looking for a bedroom set for a five-year-old boy. He's... he's been sick for a while. This will be his first real room in a long time."

Her expression softened. "Oh, how wonderful that he's recovered. Does he have any interests? Favorite colors?"

"He used to love trucks. And blue. Everything had to be blue."

She led me to a section featuring transportation-themed furniture—a bed shaped like a race car, shelves designed to look like road signs, a desk with traffic light accents. It was perfect. Exactly the kind of thing that would make Adam light up with joy.

"I'll take all of it," I said, not even looking at the price tags. "Can you deliver it by Friday?"

"Let me check." She pulled out a tablet, tapping through screens. "Yes, we can do Friday morning. Where will we be delivering?"

I gave her Lucas's address, watched her eyes widen slightly as she recognized it as one of the most expensive buildings in Manhattan.

"Of course, Mrs. Davenport," she said, her professionalism never wavering even as I saw her putting together who I was. "We'll have everything delivered and set up by noon on Friday."

I paid with the credit card Lucas had given me—the one with no limit that still felt surreal every time I used it—and left the store feeling accomplished. Adam would have a room. A real room, in a real home, where he'd be safe and loved and able to just be a kid again.

My phone buzzed. A text from Dr. Gray.

Sophia, Adam had an excellent afternoon. His motor skills are improving rapidly. If he continues at this pace, I'm confident we can discharge him Friday as planned. He's asking for you and "Papa." Such a sweet boy.

Papa. Adam had fully embraced Lucas as his father, and Lucas had embraced the role right back without hesitation. The thought made my chest ache with a complicated mixture of gratitude and guilt.

Lucas hadn't signed up to be a father to a five-year-old. That hadn't been part of our contract. But he'd stepped into the role anyway, had met Adam's hopeful "does that mean I have a new Papa?" with immediate acceptance.

What kind of man did that? What kind of man took on a child that wasn't his, loved him without reservation, promised him a family?

The kind of man I'd fallen in love with.

The kind of man who deserved better than a wife who was too scared to tell him how she felt.

I texted back: Tell him I'll be there in an hour. And that Papa will come after work.

Dr. Gray's response was quick: He'll be thrilled. See you soon.

"Luke, can we head to the hospital now?"

"Of course, Mrs. Davenport."

I spent the drive staring out the window, the pharmacy bag heavy in my purse, and tried to figure out what I was going to do about my feelings for Lucas.

I couldn't keep pretending this was just a contract. Not when my heart raced every time he touched me. Not when I found myself cooking for him not out of obligation but because I wanted to take care of him. Not when the thought of our arrangement ending made me want to curl up and die.