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“You had sex,” she says bluntly.
“Yes. But when I woke up the next morning, he had left. I figured it was just a spontaneous, one-time thing, and that I would never hear from him again.”
“And did you use protection?” she asks, jotting a few notes down on a legal pad.
“I was on the pill.”
“No other contraceptives were used?” she asks.
“No, ma’am.”
“And when did you find out you were pregnant?”
“About six weeks later,” I answer.
“Did you try to contact him?”
“No, I didn’t have any information besides his first name.”
She tilts her head. “But you were at his apartment?”
“Well, yes.”
“So, you could have found him if you wanted to.”
Her questions are firing away at me, and I’m feeling defenseless against them. I know she’s just doing her job, but this is hard to relive. Hard to see where I could have done things differently.
“Well, yes. I suppose I could have. I actually found out who he was when I was at the doctor’s office.”
“And how did that happen?”
“I saw him on the TV,” I say quietly.
She cocks her head curiously. “Is he an actor? A news anchor?”
“No, ma’am.”
I feel uneasy even saying his name to someone who feels like a complete stranger, but I know she needs the facts.
“He is a well-known businessman here in Manhattan. Marco. Marco Vallejos.”
I watch April’s eyes grow wide before she leans forward, putting her chin on her fingertips and looking at me.
“And you’re positive it’s him?” she asks.
“Yes. There was no one else.” I say, trying not to take offense.
“And what’s your relationship with him now?”
“I-I work for him,” I stammer.
She raises her brows. “And he’s never met your daughter in the time you’ve worked for him? He’s never asked about her?”
“Well, no…” I pause. “He only just found out about her last week.”
“You mean, you’ve kept her a secret all this time?”
“Yes. I know it looks bad. I was just trying to protect her,” I say, my eyes starting to tear up. When I hear it all out loud, it makes me feel so stupid.