Stranded but not Alone
Prologue
Michigan winters were a contrast in beauty. Sunny and hopeful, but cold and suspicious-much like the couple inside the immaculate bungalow on 3212 Lawrence street. Everything appeared perfect on the outside. To the untrained eye, they were a beautiful, loving, and affectionate couple, but that would change with one unasked question. The question that could end it all. Sometimes, step back and listen. Mother Nature may be talking to you.
~~~
Over a simmering pan of chicken cacciatore, Simone Daniels stood thinking of all the ways she would spoil Butterfly, her baby. It was silly to call her baby that when it could be a little boy; she would stop once they knew the sex. With a hand on her stomach as if protecting her tiny bundle from hot tomato sauce splatter, she rubbed and swayed as she monitored dinner and hummed along with the radio.
A baby. Surprised? Yes. However, she loved her baby and the thought of being a mother thrilled her. With her professional life stable and her finances secure, a baby felt nice.
~~~
Ronald, her boyfriend and father of her baby, sat mere feet away and watched T.V. in the living room. A liquor salesman for Bacardi, he was the picture of professionalism. He could sell a tree to the forest with markup. Salesman he was, but father he never wanted to be.
Turning down the flame under the skillet, she padded across the kitchen to the living room, certain she heard Ronald saying something over the music and the T.V. With a hip on the back edge of the sofa, she sat, her white house shoes bright against the mahogany floors.
"Sorry, honey, I let Bandit in so I didn't hear you." She waited with a loving smile. Only a month pregnant and she felt as if she glowed.
That joy faded when Ronald dragged a hand down his face. That sexy steely gray gaze he taunted her with at night reshaped itself into a harsh gray thunderstorm of clouds. She tensed for whatever bad news he would tell her. "How do I know that's my child?" He swung a glance at her flat stomach, then back up at her.
She reeled back in response to that verbal slap, almost fell off the back of the couch. Her breath came in slugs as her stomach churned in agitation. "What?"
"Are you sure that's my child?"
"You're serious? Whose child would it be if it isn't yours, Ronald?" Disbelief played across her face. She loved this man. How could he think such a thing? Why? She closed her eyes as small fireworks flashed behind her lids. Not a migraine, please, anything but a migraine.
"I'm not with you every day, Simone. How do I know that's my child?" Ronald glanced at her before he returned his attention to his movie. "What about that chef you had dinner with last week?" His tone was unmistakable. He didn't believe her. He turned from the movie again, tilting his head up to watch her.
"Chef?" Tucking the dishtowel she held into the waistband of her apron, and folding her arms under her chest, she grimaced with discomfort at the tenderness of her breasts so soon in her pregnancy. "I photograph restaurant food. Who should I be talking to? The cable guy? I have dinner with chefs all the time."
She stood taking slow steps to get around the sofa to stand before him. Pain rocked through her skull. She squinted under the light pouring through the window and planted herself between his legs. He swirled the Bacardi Sangria before taking a deep swallow.
"Was this an accident or did you do this on purpose?" Those same gray eyes that filled with desire and passion when he made love to her now held distrust and suspicion.
