Teacher's pet

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 30

NOVA

My mind was scrabbling, trying to keep up with what was happening, all of the changes that were coming at me so fast it felt like whiplash.

I’d thought about what it would be like if I ever saw him again, of course, but never had I pictured a scenario like this.
“I was doing you a favor,” I finally told him. “I knew you’d do the right thing, but for the wrong reasons, and I simply couldn’t take your pity, not more than I already have, not over something like this. I figured if you still wanted me, you’d have followed me, baby or no.”

He looked furious, so unhinged in a way I never thought to see him. If anyone else this huge had been this angry with me, I’d have been scared to be alone with him.
“Well, your plan didn’t work out,” he told me, tone deeply unpleasant.

“Tough luck for you. How far along are you?”

“Six months,” I answered automatically, thought about it, then corrected, “Wait, almost seven now.”

“You’re moving back in,” he began.

“I’m no—” I interrupted.

He held up a hand. “Shut the fuck up and listen,” he said through gritted teeth. “I tried to let you have your freedom, since it was so fucking important to you, but that’s off the table now. Your motives don’t really matter at this point, and how I feel about you,” he paused, took a few deep breaths, continued, “and how you feel about me is irrelevant. We’re having a child together and that is absolutely the only thing that matters.”I opened my mouth to speak.

“Don’t,” he warned me. “You will let me finish. You can hate me for the rest of your life. I might just hate you back. I don’t ever need to touch you again, but you will be moving in with me, and I will be helping you with this child. I’ll support you both, of course. We’ll be raising him together.”

Part of me was relieved that this choice had been taken out of my hands now that he was here to help, but it was a small part in the face of all the other emotions battling within me.
Everything he was saying hurt, deep wounds, but it also made me angry.

I glared at him.

He wasn’t finished. “And we’re getting married. I’m old-fashioned. My son will carry my name, and so will his spiteful mother.”

The married part had my breath catching in my throat—with hope, with anguish that it was happening like this—but the spiteful charge was an accusation I could not take in silence. “I’m not spiteful,” I said firmly. “I told you. I was doing you a favor. You clearly had no problems moving on from me.”

He was pulling into his garage at this point. He was around the car to help me out before I could even open my door, but he didn’t touch me more than absolutely necessary.

“You’re quitting your job,” he told me, clearly not remotely done raging at me. “You don’t need to be on your feet all day this far along.” I didn’t respond and it seemed to calm him a bit. “This isn’t just your child,” he started lecturing me in his darkest teacher tone, “and you need to make peace with the fact that everything is not going to go your way on this.”

When we got into the house we both just stopped and stared at each other. His eyes were on my hands clutching my belly.
“What now?” I asked. I felt suddenly resigned, just too exhausted to fight him.

“You agree, then?” he asked, clearly nowhere near done. He didn’t wait for me to answer. “We’ll get you settled into my room and make a list of all the things you need—for the baby, for the pregnancy.”