The One She Needed

EIGHTEEN

RAQUEL

We were all in our own worlds. Angie sat by the window, sipping champagne, her eyes darting toward Morgan with barely concealed apprehension. Morgan, flipping through channels in silence, wasn't really here—her mind was with her kids. Even over the phone, the pain was evident, the forced secrecy a weight she couldn't shake.

And me? I had my own problems.

What I would give for a stiff drink.

"Oh my god, just pick a channel and stick to it!" Angie snapped, standing up to head into the kitchen. Morgan's glare was instant, sharp, fire behind her eyes.

"Do you have a problem with me?" she asked, stretching out on the couch, feigning nonchalance.

I remained planted on the kitchen stool, hoping Angie would let it go.

But of course, she didn't.

"You were never there for Raquel. You were too busy kissing your mother's ass to notice her suffering. You shunned your own blood, Morgan! And now you have the audacity to show up here asking for help? Hell yeah, I have a problem with you!"

Morgan watched her, impassive, wearing that unreadable mask she always did. Then she shrugged, completely unfazed. "Last I checked, Raquel had no issue with me being here. Honestly, I'm surprised you're still here. Considering your character, I assumed you'd be off somewhere on your knees in front of a complete stranger, sucking his—"

"Fuck you, Morgan!" Angie spat, veins bulging in her neck as she jabbed a finger in Morgan's direction. "Raquel may have fallen for your damsel-in-distress act, but between us? You deserved it. I almost feel bad your poor kids got caught up in it."

Morgan's expression cracked.

Her face contorted, tears brimming in her eyes, her bottom lip trembling as she rose from the couch. The shift in the air was instant—charged, dangerous.

"Leave my kids out of this," she said, voice low, shaking with suppressed rage.

"Aww, did I hurt your feelings, princess?" Angie smirked, stepping toe-to-toe with her.

I opened my mouth to intervene, but a sharp discomfort twisted in my stomach.

Oh no.

"Angie," I mumbled, but they were too locked in their standoff to notice. The scrape of the stool and my abrupt movement finally broke their focus.

I barely made it to the sink before the contents of my stomach came rushing up.

How could pleasure lead to this?

A hand pushed my hair back. Another rubbed soothing circles on my back.

"Raquel, are you okay?" Morgan's concern was genuine.

"Are you so dense you can't see she clearly isn't?" Angie snapped, helping me sit on the toilet seat once I was done. She held me close, steadying me, while Morgan stood by the door, arms crossed.

"Do you always have to be so rude?" Morgan bit back.

"You've done nothing to deserve anything le—"

"CUT IT OUT!" I exploded, nausea and frustration colliding in a perfect storm. They both froze, not used to me raising my voice.

"It's bad enough I have to worry about a kid popping out of my vagina soon. I'll be damned if I have to put up with you two bitches fighting."

Silence. Then, inexplicably, laughter.