A Secret With Leo - Part 6

Everyone in this story is 18+

Eight weeks, that’s how long it had been since the night everything exploded — since Sophie walked out of our lives with a suitcase, a broken heart, and a baby in her belly.

I hadn’t written a single word since. My laptop sat in the corner of the living room, gathering a fine coat of dust, just like me. I hadn’t shaved. I hadn’t changed out of the same pair of stained sweats and a stretched-out T-shirt in at least five days. My beard itched. My brain buzzed with guilt. And my body didn’t care.

I barely answered texts. Calls went straight to voicemail. My agent stopped checking in after week three. Sophie had only sent a single text: “I’m 7 weeks along, and I’m keeping it.”

Then, on a gray Wednesday morning that smelled like stale cereal and self-loathing, there was a knock at the door.

I ignored it at first, assuming it was a neighbor or someone trying to sell something. But the knock came again — louder, more persistent.

I opened the door to find Leo, arms crossed, dark circles under his eyes, wearing a fitted hoodie and that stubborn expression that used to make me laugh.

Now it just made my stomach churn.

“I was starting to wonder if you’d rotted in here,” he said.

“Not far off,” I muttered, stepping aside.

He walked in and took one look around — the dishes stacked in the sink, the crusted coffee mugs, the takeout boxes forming a sad skyline on the counter.

“You look like shit,” he said.

“Thanks. You here to add more guilt to the pile?”

Leo sighed and rubbed his temple. “Look, I haven’t heard from you in weeks. Sophie won’t talk to me either — which I get. I’m not here to beg for forgiveness or whatever. I just... I heard from Nadia that Sophie’s got her first trimester screening today.”

My stomach twisted. “Yeah?”

“She’s around nine weeks now, right?”

“Give or take.”

Leo looked at me, eyes narrowing. “So… you’re going, right?”

I hesitated. “No. I’m sure she doesn’t want me there.”

“She probably doesn’t,” Leo said bluntly. “She probably hates you. But that doesn’t matter.”

I said nothing.

He stepped closer, voice low but firm. “She’s decided to keep it. That’s your baby in there, Adrian. Yours. You don’t get to disappear because you feel like shit. You owe her your support. She might not want it — not yet — but you still show up. You think you’re scared? She’s got to be fucking terrified.”

The words hit me square in the chest.

I looked away, ashamed.

“She shouldn’t have to do this alone,” Leo added, softer now. “And you shouldn’t either.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then, I nodded once. “I should shower.”

“No kidding,” he said, waving a hand in front of his face. “You smell like the back of a fridge.”

While I stood under the hot spray, scrubbing the grime from my body and the fog from my brain, I could hear Leo outside — the faint sound of dishes clinking, garbage bags rustling, and the vacuum starting up. He didn’t say anything, just quietly cleaned while I pulled myself together.

Showered, shaved, and in halfway-decent clothes, I felt like someone else. Someone closer to who I’d been before everything fell apart. Someone who could show up.

◆◆◆

When I arrived, Sophie was already in the waiting room, sitting rigidly in a gray plastic chair near the far wall. Her arms were folded so tight across her chest they looked like armor. Her legs were crossed at the ankle, her eyes fixed on a magazine she wasn’t reading.

She looked up as the door opened and saw me.

Her whole face hardened instantly.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she snapped — loud enough to turn the head of the receptionist.

I approached slowly, hands out at my sides, like I was trying not to spook a wild animal.

“I heard about the screening,” I said softly. “I wanted to be here.”

She scoffed, the magazine flopping shut on her lap. “From who?”

“Nadia.”

Her jaw clenched, eyes narrowing. “Of course.”

I stood awkwardly in front of her, unsure if I should sit or not.

“I know you don’t want to see me,” I started, “and I don’t expect—”

“You’re right. I don’t.” She looked down at her lap, then back up, voice sharp. “You think this is some kind of redemption arc? You just show up, say the right thing, and what — I invite you in for a baby name brainstorm?”

“No,” I said, quietly but firmly. “That’s not what this is.”

She shook her head. “You’re not the victim here, Adrian.”

“I know.”

“Because you sure as hell looked like one the last time I saw you. Like you were the one who got betrayed.”

“I know, Sophie.”

That seemed to throw her off just a little.

Her eyes flitted away. She shifted slightly in her seat. That’s when I saw it: the way she kept fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. Her fingers trembled, almost imperceptibly.

She was scared.

Of what the scan might show. Of going in there alone.

Of being strong again.

I softened my voice. “I’m not here to make anything about me. Or us. I’m here for the baby. And for you. Even if you hate me right now.”

Sophie looked up again, and for a second her expression faltered. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Use that voice. That low, careful tone. That thing you do when you want to fix something.”

“I’m not trying to fix anything. I just want to be here. Just… let me sit with you. Until they call your name.”

She stared at me — eyes sharp, jaw tight, fingers still tugging on her sleeve — then finally sighed, like the exhaustion of doing it alone had caught up with her.

“You sit over there,” she said, nodding to the seat next to her but turning away slightly. “You don’t talk. You don’t try to hold my hand. And if you say something like ‘We got this,’ I will break your nose.”

I gave a faint nod. “Fair.”

I sat.

◆◆◆

The technician was friendly, if clinical. Sophie laid back on the table with her T-shirt pulled up and her jeans slightly unbuttoned, eyes on the ceiling, jaw set like stone.

I stood awkwardly at her side, unsure if I was welcome but not ready to leave either.

When the image flickered to life on the screen, I caught my breath.

It was tiny — not much more than a blurry peanut — but there it was.

Our baby.

The tech adjusted the probe slightly, and the heartbeat came through the monitor. That steady whoosh-whoosh-whoosh, impossibly fast, impossibly real.

Sophie’s chin trembled.

She looked away from me, blinking rapidly.

The technician began the measurements and spoke in calm, even tones. “Heartbeat looks strong. Baby is measuring right on schedule — about 9 weeks and 3 days.”

I exhaled slowly. I hadn’t even realized I was holding my breath.

Sophie turned her head slightly, still not looking at me. “That’s good, right?” she asked the tech.

“Very good,” the woman smiled. “Everything looks healthy so far.”

I saw Sophie close her eyes, and her chest rose in a long, slow breath that looked a lot like relief. And I think I’ve never been more relieved myself.

◆◆◆

We stepped out into the cool hallway together, the scan photo in Sophie’s hand. She stared at it for a moment, then quickly tucked it into her bag.

“Thank you for letting me be there,” I said.

She didn’t answer right away.

Then: “You didn’t say ‘we got this.’ So… that’s something.”

We stood in front of the front desk. The receptionist smiled politely and told us the total. I stepped forward and tapped my card before Sophie could dig through her bag.

Her head snapped toward me. “I said I don’t need a handout.”

“It’s not a handout,” I said. “It’s about the baby. Our baby.”

She didn’t respond.

“I want to split everything,” I continued. “Appointments. Costs. Diapers. Classes. Whatever you need — I’m in.”

Sophie stared at me for a long moment.

Then she gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

“I still hate you,” she said.

I smiled faintly. “Yeah. I kind of get that.”

“But you can be there. As long as you don’t screw it up.”

“I won’t.”

She paused. “And Leo doesn’t come anywhere near me.”

My throat tightened. “He won’t.”

She nodded again, but this time something lingered behind her eyes—hesitation, maybe. Or guilt.

Then she said, quieter now, “I wasn’t even sure that night.”

I frowned. “What night?”

“At the party. I hadn’t taken a test yet. I’d been feeling weird—off. I kind of knew. But I didn’t want to know. You ever do that? Just… ignore something and hope it stays small?”

I didn’t answer.

She looked down at her hands. “And I drank. More than I should have. Not proud of it. But I wasn’t ready to believe it was real. Then everything blew up and I—” She exhaled through her nose, slow and sharp. “I told you to hurt you. Because I was hurt. Because I wanted you to feel the worst version of it.”

“You did,” I said quietly.

She nodded once. “I haven’t touched a drink since.”

Another pause.

“I was terrified in that room,” she added. “Not because of you. Not even because of the baby, really. Because I’ve been carrying this knot in my chest for weeks thinking I might’ve already messed it up.”

“You didn’t.”

“I know. But I didn’t know then.”

She adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder. “You don’t have to say anything. I just… I needed to say it out loud.”

I gave a small nod. “Thank you. For saying it.”

“Don’t read into it too much,” she said, already turning toward the door. “I still hate you.”

I smiled faintly. “Fair.”

But I watched her as she walked off toward the parking lot, the scan photo tucked deep in her bag, and for the first time in a long time, she didn’t look like she was carrying it alone.

◆◆◆

Back at the apartment the place was spotless.

Dishes gone. Floor vacuumed. Laundry folded. Trash taken out.

Even the books on the shelves were straightened.

I stood in the doorway, taking it all in.

I pulled out my phone, thumb hovering over Leo’s name. My finger rested on the call button for a long second.

Then, I locked the screen.

Some things didn’t need to be said right away.