“Where are we going?” I ask when we’re fully dressed, and Nate grabs my hand to escort me out of the room.
“We have a meeting with Kincaid and Emmalyn,” he says as we make our way down the hallway. “Are you hungry?”
“No,” I tell him, but he guides me to the kitchen counter anyway.
“You need something nutritional in your stomach. I can’t have my boy being born with skinny arms and legs. Peanut butter toast?”
“Sure,” I agree, a small smile on my face.
I make him a cup of coffee, knowing he’s been on a plane all night just to get back home to me, as he grabs some bread and pops it in the toaster.
“I’m sorry for not answering your calls. I didn’t want you to be distracted. I didn’t want to make your job any more dangerous than it already is.”
He holds me close as the bread toasts, pressing his lips to my neck as we wait. I eat quickly, eager to see if Emmalyn has any suggestions that will help our situation. She’s the most levelheaded woman I’ve ever met, and I’ve come to trust her advice.
Nate carries his cup of coffee with us as we make our way out the back and toward their house. Emmalyn pulls open the door with a smile before Nate can lift his fist to knock. We’re escorted into the dining room where another woman sits with a soft smile. As we approach, she stands, holding out her hand to me first. I appreciate the gesture, shaking her hand.
“Faith Robbins, family law attorney.”
“April Gib—Fosse. This is my husband Nathaniel.”
Nate shakes her hand, and we all take our seats.
“When did you have time to explain to them what was going on?” I ask Nate.
“I shot Kincaid a text with the gist of it while you were brushing your teeth.”
I nod, grateful that they’ve been kind enough to have someone here that could possibly have some answers for us.
“I don’t know much,” Faith begins, “so I want you to start at the beginning.”
I nod. “Yesterday while I was at work—”
Faith stops me with a hand on mine. “The very beginning, April.”
I look around the room, trusting the people here but still not feeling a hundred percent comfortable speaking about all the dirty details of what happened between Cory and me.
I take a deep breath and tell her everything. I talk about how I thought I was in love or how I wanted to be in love with Cory so I could escape Knight Salvation. I don’t go into details about having sex with Cory, just that I did. The difference doesn’t seem to matter much to Nate because he vibrates with negative energy the entire time I’m speaking. I tell her about my conversation with him outside the pharmacy, and how he didn’t want me to have the baby. I assure her when she asks that Cory Clark is the father, confessing that he is the only other man I’ve slept with besides my husband. I tell her about South Carolina and how my grandparents kicked me out the second they found out I was pregnant. I talk about coming to New Mexico and convincing a man I didn’t know to marry me so my baby would have a last name.
Even as I confess that part, I feel no judgement coming from the people around me.
I tell her about falling in love with my husband, and Nate presses his lips to my temple. I speak about the visit from Cory yesterday and what he said about his parents wanting to take my baby and how I’m ruining his life by not getting an abortion.
Faith nods, taking notes the entire time, only interrupting when she needs clarification on something.
She doesn’t try to placate me or tell me everything is going to be fine, and I appreciate that about her as well.
When my story is done, she writes a little longer before looking up at me.
“They can’t do anything until the baby is born and paternity is established,” she explains. “This Cory guy sounds like a real piece of work, and his request for you to get an abortion would go a long way in court if it were admissible, but at this point, it’s your word against his.”
“What do we do now?” Nate asks, because I just can’t seem to manage opening my mouth.
“We wait until the baby is born,” Faith answers.
Nate nods, but he has to know how hard this is for me. I’m not quite halfway through my pregnancy. Waiting and worrying for the next nearly five months is going to be impossible.
“Cory mentioned the private investigator is going to give the information to his parents in three days. Well, two now since that was yesterday.”
“I wish I could tell you more, but we just have to wait,” Faith says as she stands. She pulls a business card from her purse and hands it to me. “If he contacts you again, I want you to record the interaction.”