Chapter 5 Carrying His Child
Leila's POV
The morning sun cast long shadows as I walked through the less affluent restaurant district of San Francisco. My outfit—a simple blouse and modest slacks—was a far cry from the designer clothes that once filled my closet. I clutched a simplified résumé in my hand, carefully edited to omit any mention of the Reed family or my marriage to Theron Sterling.
I took a deep breath, squaring my shoulders before pushing open the door to a busy diner. Waitress, dishwasher, janitor... I would take anything at this point. I just needed to survive.
The manager, a middle-aged man with kind eyes, looked up as I approached the counter. His expression brightened slightly, clearly responding to the unconscious grace I couldn't quite shed despite my circumstances.
"Good morning," I said with a practiced smile. "I noticed your 'Help Wanted' sign. I'd like to apply for any available position."
He accepted my résumé with a friendly nod. "We could use another waitress. Let me just check your ID for the paperwork."
The moment he glanced at my driver's license, his demeanor transformed. The warmth in his eyes cooled to ice, and he handed back my documents with a stiff arm.
"I'm sorry," he said, no longer meeting my gaze. "We just filled all our positions."
"But the sign in your window was posted this morning," I countered, confusion evident in my voice.
"Things change quickly in this business," he replied, suddenly busy organizing menus. "Best of luck elsewhere."
The pattern repeated itself at four more establishments—initial interest followed by abrupt rejection once they saw my identification. By the fifth restaurant, my confusion had morphed into suspicion.
The coffee shop owner, a heavyset woman with tattoo-covered arms, was more forthright than the others.
"Listen, honey," she said, leaning across the counter, "I don't know what you did, but someone's been warning the entire restaurant association not to hire you."
I froze. "What? Who would do that?"
She shrugged, glancing nervously toward the door. "I'm just a small business owner. I can't afford to mess with people who have that kind of influence. You understand, right?"
Stunned, I wandered to a nearby park and sank onto a bench. Suddenly, a wave of nausea washed over me. I pressed my hand against my mouth, breathing deeply until the sensation passed. This was the third time this week.
After regaining my composure, I slowly made my way back to the cheap hotel, fatigue weighing heavily on my limbs. The lobby felt colder than when I'd left that morning, or perhaps it was just my growing sense of isolation. The receptionist's eyes followed me as I crossed toward the elevator, her expression shifting from neutral to uncomfortable.
"Ms. Reed?" she called out, stopping me mid-stride. "Could I speak with you for a moment?"
I approached the desk, noting the way she avoided direct eye contact.
"I'm very sorry to inform you that we'll need you to vacate your room today," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
"That's impossible," I replied. "I've prepaid for a full week."
She tapped nervously at her computer. "Our system shows payment for only three days. We'll refund the difference, of course."
"There must be some mistake—"
"Is there a problem here?" A man in a crisp suit emerged from the back office, his manager badge gleaming under the lobby lights.
"This guest is disputing her checkout date," the receptionist explained.
The manager sized me up with a cold stare. "Ms. Reed, we reserve the right to refuse service to anyone."
"On what grounds?" I challenged.
"Several guests have complained after recognizing you from... the incident," he said pointedly. "Your presence is disturbing our clientele."
"That was a misunderstanding. I didn't push anyone—"
He raised his hand, cutting me off. "Please collect your belongings within the hour, or we'll be forced to call security."
Around us, other hotel guests whispered and pointed. The humiliation burned through me as I made my way to the elevator, feeling dozens of eyes boring into my back.
In my room, I emptied my wallet onto the bed, counting the meager bills. With my bank accounts frozen and credit cards canceled, I had barely enough cash to last two weeks if I was extremely careful.
Another wave of nausea hit me, stronger this time. I rushed to the bathroom, retching painfully into the toilet. Leaning against the cold tile wall afterward, I wondered if stress was making me ill, or if it was something else entirely.
I packed my few belongings and left the hotel with my head held high, despite the manager's cold gaze following me out the door. Outside, the skies opened up, drenching me within seconds. I trudged through the downpour, dragging my small suitcase behind me.
"This city once welcomed me with open arms," I thought bitterly. "Now it treats me like a plague carrier."
The rain continued to fall as I sought refuge under a store awning. My thoughts raced, connecting symptoms I'd been experiencing—the nausea, fatigue, emotional swings. A suspicion began forming in my mind, accompanied by a flutter of panic. I glanced across the street at a small pharmacy, its neon sign flickering against the gray afternoon.
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as I scanned the aisles, careful to avoid the security cameras. I found what I was looking for and quickly calculated dates in my head. That night with Theron before our divorce... it had been just over a week ago.
I purchased the pregnancy test and then hurried out and found a public restroom in a nearby shopping mall.
Inside the stall, I stared at the two clear lines on the test strip, my hands trembling. A cocktail of emotions swept through me—terror, helplessness, and underneath it all, a small, inexplicable spark of joy.
Memories of my last intimate moment with Theron flashed through my mind—his intensity, his possessiveness, neither of us knowing it would be our final time together.
A bitter laugh escaped my lips at the irony. I'd left the Sterling mansion with nothing, stripped of wealth, status, and identity. Yet somehow, I'd taken the most precious thing of all—his child.
My hand instinctively moved to my still-flat stomach. "At least you won't abandon me, will you?" I whispered, surprised by the fierce protectiveness already taking root.