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The thoughts in my mind raced, causing me to sit back on my soft couch and sigh. Why do bad things always happen to me? I'm trying to wrap my head around how me, a biological man, can bear children. Why was this gift given to me of all people? Don't get me wrong, I love children, but it's quite unnatural.
The hard truth that the father of my baby is Trey brings me to a stressful situation. Trey is down low, and he only calls me for a night filled with pleasure. How will he take finding out his "fling" is pregnant? Well, it's too late to back out now; he should be on his way to my house as we speak.
The ringing sound of my doorbell being pushed brought me out of my thoughts, and I silently prayed this would end well. When I opened the door, I stepped aside, allowing Trey's huge frame to enter my house. As always, he had a natural mug on his face, and it was clear he woke up on the wrong side of the bed.
"Whatchu call me here for, B?" he asked, his voice filled with a tired undertone.
"Ummm, you may want to sit down for this, trust me," I said, becoming more nervous.
I went to my kitchen cabinet to retrieve the sonogram, my palms becoming sweaty from how nervous I was.
"Before I show you what I'm about to show you, please understand I had no idea this could happen, so please try to be understanding," I said, handing the picture to him.
As he eyed the sonogram, his face was blank, and that soon turned into a harsh glare.
"Aye, B, stop wasting my time; this shit ain't funny. Why did you call me all the way over here to waste my time?" he said, becoming angry.
"I'm not playing, Trey. I know it may seem hard to believe, but I couldn't believe it myself. I just thought I could at least let you know."
I was met with a pen-dropping silence, and I could see him eyeing the picture, clearly in deep thought.
"Get rid of it," he said, his voice thick with disgust.
"What?" I asked, shocked at his words.
"You heard what the fuck I said, nigga. Get rid of that shit growing in your stomach. You're a whole man, B. I don't want kids, especially not with some gay-ass nigga," he said, his voice filled with venom.
For some reason, my usual calmness was replaced with angst. How could he refer to my child with such a vulgar word?
Before I could utter a response, he was making his way to the door, quite angrily, I might add.
"I don't want anything to do with that child. If you keep it, I don't want any part of it. Don't contact me anymore, B. I should've known better than to mess with yo ass," he said.
With that, he left, leaving me with jumbled thoughts. What am I supposed to do now?
