He was a smooth talker, that’s what my friend said. A smooth, not to be trusted, talker. My judgement was skewed within his deep, hazel eyes. Maybe she was wrong.

That was seven months, three days and a four hours ago. Where is he now? I don’t know and I really don’t care. All I care about is the thought of being a mother. I’m scared, not just because I’m verging on forty.

I’ve read all the things that can go wrong on the internet. My baby could have downs, heart defects or any numerous conditions I have yet to search for. She is kind, the nurse.

She gels my stomach, and the smooth liquid reveals a grey and white, blurry picture. It’s tiny little heartbeat is like surround sound in the room. In that moment I didn’t care about the smooth talking man, who got me here.

It is like some cute, little alien inside my stomach.

In a month’s time I will be a mother and they will rely on me completely. I may not rely on the father, but this little person will always have me to rely on.

Published by writerravenclaw

I am a fifty something mother of two grown up children, and one beautiful grandchild. I have been married for nearly thirty-four years. My first book was published ten years ago. I wrote my book Sticks and Stones because of my experience of being bullied at school.

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