Page 64 of Babies for the Big Shot

I let out a laugh, but it sounds brittle. “He’s avoided me in the break room. Rescheduled our check-ins. And during the leadership meeting, I made a joke, one he always laughs at, and he didn’t even flinch. Just kept typing like I was background noise.”

Laura winces. “Okay, yeah. That’s… deliberate.”

“Right?” I say, too fast. “It’s not just in my head? I’m not being dramatic?”

“No. You’re being heartbroken,” she says, soft but firm. “And probably gaslit by your own nervous system. Which is normal.”

I stare at the dark screen of my phone on the coffee table.

“Do you think…” I swallow. “Do you think he regrets it? Like maybe it was just… too much too fast, and now he’s panicking and pretending it didn’t happen?”

Laura doesn’t answer right away. I love her for that.

She chews her lip, thinking. Then she says, “I think he’s freaking out emotionally. That man is not built for vulnerability. He probably hasn’t been touched in years by someone who didn’t want something from him. And now you come along and he… melts. You saw it, didn’t you?”

I nod. “It wasn’t just sex, Laura. Iknowit wasn’t. The way he looked at me…”

“I know,” she says gently.

“But now…” I trail off, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. “Now it’s like I don’t exist.”

Laura puts her hand over mine. “You’re not imagining it. He’s pulling away. But that doesn’t mean you imagined what you had. People run when they’re scared. Doesn’t make what they felt any less real.”

I want to believe her.

God, I do.

But when I walk into that office tomorrow, I have to pretend none of it happened.

That I’m okay. That I’m focused. That I’m not cracking open a little more every time he won’t meet my eyes.

I have to sit through meetings and sort schedules and say “yes, Mr. Ashford” with a voice that doesn’t shake.

I have to pretend my heart isn’t shredding with every cold reply and every glance he refuses to meet.

I don’t know how much longer I can do it.

And apparently, neither does my body.

Because two seconds after I say the words, the room tilts.

I press my hand to my stomach. A hot wave rolls through me. Nausea, sharp and sudden, and very much not the emotional kind. My skin goes clammy. I blink hard, trying to focus, but the edges of my vision are already going fuzzy.

“Sara?” Laura sits up straighter. “Hey, you okay?”

“I…” I push off the couch, but my legs barely hold me. “I think I’m gonna be…”

I don’t finish.

I stagger to the bathroom, barely reaching the toilet before everything erupts. My stomach twists painfully, ribs threatening to break under the pressure. Tears spill over, uninvited and raw.

Laura’s there a heartbeat later, crouching beside me, pulling my hair back gently. “Okay, okay. That’s it. You’re officially done diagnosing yourself with heartbreak. Something’s off.”

“Stress,” I pant. “Or food poisoning or?—”

Laura is already halfway out of the bathroom. “Nope. I’m going to the pharmacy. Do not argue with me.”

I don’t. I can’t.