“My life is never going to be the same,” Maya Smith whispered. Her dark brown eyes twinkled with joy. She studied the snugly wrapped infant, asleep on the hospital bed. Gently, she stroked the baby's tiny hand. The little one whimpered, but remained in a sweet sleep. The newborn had taken her dimples, but the caramel hue and round face had come from the handsome father.
He should be here, Maya thought. Tears burned her eyes. She shook her head. She would not ruin the joyous moment by crying. This was the second happiest day of her life. Yesterday, she’d delivered an eight pound baby girl who she named Angel. Within minutes after the infant’s birth, she’d felt an intense attachment to her. She loved the little one more than life itself.
Picking up the telephone, she dialed the familiar digits. She hadn’t called him in months, but he had to know about his child. She was surprised to hear someone was on the line.
“Congratulations on the baby!” It was her literary agent, Kimberly Davis. “Your book is on the New York Times bestseller’s list again!”
“Thank you, Kim.” Maya plopped down on chair next to the bed, happy that her career was going so well.
She was a popular Romance author who’d been writing bestsellers for the past twelve years. However, her love life was far different from the beautiful characters and perfect endings she crafted in her novels.
This is not supposed to be my life, she couldn’t help but to think as Kim continued chatting. She was supposed to have a successful career, a loving husband and then a baby. Instead, the successful career as a writer had come first. When she was nineteen, she’d sold her first book to her current publisher. Immediately, her book had turned into a bestseller and won many awards.
Afterwards, any novel she wrote became gold. She was dubbed the queen of romance and writing full time as she traveled the United States, greeting adoring fans. Then she met him. Her heart dropped.
“Can I get back with you later, Kim?” Maya asked.
“I’m afraid not. We need to talk. You’re deadline is approaching.”
Maya squeezed her eyes shut and sighed. “Can you give me some time to get situated?”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Kimberly said. “I know you haven’t had much time to write due to your pregnancy and the birth of your baby, but I need book three of: Late Night Creep, ASAP. Your fans are anxious for a follow up, and so am I. Please, tell me what’s going to happen between Jewel and Tyson,” she added, referring to the popular characters in the book.
Maya shook her head. She had no idea what road she would lead her famous characters down this time. Lately, her mind had been so stressed, she’d developed writer’s block. “You’ll find out soon,” she promised. She said goodbye before disconnecting the call.
She massaged her neck. She felt a tension headache building. She tried not to think about how she’d gone through her pregnancy alone, without him or his support. As she stood, her heart began palpitating. She became lightheaded. She leaned on the wall for support. Maybe she was stressing too much. Her Cardiologist had warned her to take it easy and not to worry. Her heart condition was sure to land her in the hospital if she didn’t heed to his advice.
At seven weeks into her pregnancy, Maya’s Cardiologist had diagnosed her with Mitral Valve Prolapse, the most common congenital heart issue found in women of childbearing age. She would have to take good care of herself if she planned on being there to raise her child. Still, she couldn’t help but to think about him. He should be here, Maya thought once again.
She shook her head in disgust and moved to the hospital bed. She scooped up the baby and placed it gently into the basinet. She was exhausted. Her back ached, and she was sore from the stitches.
However, with her smile and fancy attire, no one could tell she was in pain.
She walked the short distance to the mirror and fixed her curly, red hair. She massaged lotion onto her arms that was the matching shade of a russet potato. She scrutinized her curvy, petite figure. She’d just had a baby, however she didn’t look it. Except for the barely noticeable belly pouch, she looked excellent.
She reached for the telephone, this time being sure the line was clear before dialing the familiar digits.
Her breath stopped short in her chest when she heard Big D’s deep voice. She was unable to speak.
“Hello? Who is this?”
“Maya,” she whispered, incapable of making her voice register any louder.
There was a brief pause followed by erratic breathing. “Why are you calling?”
“I had our baby.”
“Baby?” His voice cracked. “I paid you five hundred dollars to get rid of it!”
Maya’s heart pounded in her neck. Her sweaty hand tightened around the phone. “The ‘it’ you’re referring to is a girl. She’s your daughter. Her name is Angel.” Tears blinded her view. She paused to gain control over her quivering voice. “I didn't go through with the abortion. I couldn’t get rid of her. I’m glad I made that decision. You should see her. She’s beautiful.”
“Are you serious?" Big D laughed, but his chuckle held no trace of humor. "How do I know she’s mines?”
“You were the only man I was sleeping with.”
“That’s what they all say,” he snapped.
Maya squeezed her eyes shut in anger. “We can take a DNA test.”
“Look, you decided to have her, so she’s your problem. I’m married. I have a family, remember?”
“So what are you saying?”
“Set up the DNA testing, but don’t expect anything from me. I’ll gladly sign away my parental rights if she’s mines.”
Stunned, Maya hung up the telephone. Tears leaked from her eyes. Quickly, she wiped them away. She would not cry or stress over this situation.
At the moment, she had to face the facts: Big D didn’t want to be a part of his daughter’s life. She would not force him. She could do it on her own. She had all the right ingredients to raise the baby by herself. She was successful, financially stable, and lived in a luxury, gated community. After the DNA test, Big D would never hear from her again.
The baby began crying. Angel was hungry. Smiling, Maya quickly retrieved a bottle and scooped the baby into her arms. She sat in the rocking chair, adoring the tiny miracle. She’d done her part by telling Big D about his child. It was on him if he didn’t take an active role in her life.
She kissed the baby's wrinkled forehead. “It’s just you and me,” she whispered tenderly as she fed her. “Mommy promises she will take good care of you.”
Unlike her romance novels, there would be no happy ending, or a prince on a white horse to rescue her and be a father figure to her child. She was on her own.