some things can be challenging

Chapter 6

Tim

After a grueling shift, I finally arrived home, tossing my keys into the bowl and collapsing onto the couch. The weight of recent events pressed heavily on my mind. Had I made a mistake? Was I the reason Lucy didn't want to come to work today? I loved her deeply, but amidst everything, I also craved some time alone to sort through my thoughts. What would happen next? Would she be willing to reconcile in the future, or would our friendship, at the very least, find a way to mend?

As I lay there, staring blankly at the ceiling, lost in my thoughts, the unexpected sound of the doorbell pierced the silence. Who could possibly be here at this hour? Reluctantly, I rose to answer it, only to find Lucy standing on the doorstep. Her usual vibrant self seemed replaced by a somber figure clad in black leggings and an oversized sweatshirt, her eyes swollen and red from tears. Was she okay?

"Lucy, are you alright?" I asked, my voice filled with concern as tears threatened to well up in my own eyes. It pained me deeply to see her like this—so unlike her usual cheerful self.

"Tim, I need to tell you something, but please, let me get it all out first," she said nervously, her voice quivering.

"Of course, go ahead," I replied, my mind racing with anxious thoughts. What could she possibly need to tell me? Was it about us? Had something happened that I wasn't aware of?

"I know I should have told you sooner, but I was angry and didn't know how to approach it," Lucy began, her hands nervously fidgeting with her car keys. "About a week ago, maybe a day after you broke up with me—I was so scared when you did—I found out I'm pregnant," she confessed, tears streaming down her face.

Fuck. She was pregnant, and I had ended things with her. Guilt and regret flooded over me. She had risked her life for me, jumping from car to car to save me while carrying our child. I was speechless for a moment, grappling with the weight of her revelation.

"How far along are you?" I managed to ask finally, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I had my second doctor's appointment today. I'm 14 weeks along, and it's a girl," she said, her tears continuing to fall.

A daughter. We were going to have a daughter, and I had left her feeling abandoned and alone. Shame coursed through me as I struggled to process everything. What had I done? How could I have handled things differently?

"Tim, say something," Lucy pleaded, lifting her tear-streaked face to meet mine.

"I... I don't know what to say," I admitted, my voice thick with emotion. "I... I have to let you go. It's getting late," I added lamely, my heart breaking at the hurt in her eyes. She turned to leave, clearly devastated, and for a moment, I hesitated. Should I go after her? But I remained frozen, still grappling with the enormity of my mistakes.

As the door closed behind her, a sinking feeling settled in my chest. I had let her walk away without a fight, without reassurance. I knew now that my inaction only compounded the hurt I had already caused. The gravity of the situation finally hit me: I had to make things right, for Lucy's sake and the sake of our unborn child. 

As the evening wore on, I cautiously glanced through the window. Lucy's car remained parked under the fading light of the setting sun, her window rolled down to alleviate the lingering heat. My heart sank as I saw her inside, tears streaming down her cheeks, her face contorted in anguish. It was clear she was having a profound emotional moment, perhaps a meltdown of sorts. At one point, she slammed her hand against the steering wheel in frustration, a stark display of her turmoil.

What had I done? Lucy hadn't done anything wrong. If anything, it was my actions that had led to this moment of despair for her. Yet, despite my overwhelming urge to rush to her side and comfort her, I hesitated. Guilt and self-doubt held me back. How could I face her after causing such pain? The thought gnawed at me, making me feel utterly inadequate.

Inside, a conflicting storm raged within me. On one hand, I wanted to be ecstatic about the news of our impending child. I had always dreamed of starting a family, and now that dream was becoming a reality. But instead of joy, I felt an overwhelming sense of shame and regret. How could I have let things unravel to this point?

"I should have been there for her," I muttered to myself, my voice barely audible over the silence that enveloped the room. "I should have been the one to reassure her, to share in her happiness."

The weight of my inaction settled heavily on my shoulders. Lucy deserved better than my silence. She deserved to see my genuine excitement, to know that despite everything, I was committed to her and our child. Yet, here I stood, paralyzed by my own shortcomings.

"I'm a terrible person," I admitted aloud, the words hanging bitterly in the air. "How could I have let her suffer alone like this?"

As I continued to watch Lucy from the window, her sobs seemed to intensify, echoing the turmoil within my own heart. The urge to go to her, to hold her and apologize for everything, grew stronger with each passing moment. But fear held me back—fear of rejection, fear of facing the consequences of my actions.