Slept with one Twin...and Fell for the Other

Chapter 25

Bellamy POV

I was jobless.

Again.

As I walked back to my run-down apartment, every step felt heavier than the last. My boots splashed through a shallow puddle on the cracked sidewalk, and I didn’t even flinch. The only thing going through my head was what the fuck happens to my baby now?

I wasn’t even three months yet. Not really showing. No kicks. Just symptoms and a photo in a drawer that I couldn’t bear to look at right now.

So the question burned in my chest like acid.

Is it possible to… undo this?

Because how the hell was I supposed to raise a child when I couldn’t even take care of myself? No job. No stability. No peace.

I didn’t even remember how I got there, but suddenly I was standing in front of the clinic. The cold wind slapped against my cheeks, but I pushed the door open anyway. The warmth inside felt fake—too quiet, too bright, too sterile. But I walked in.

There were two women at the front desk. One of them looked up. “Can I help you, honey?”

I hesitated. My throat was dry. “I’m… just thinking.”

She nodded like she understood. “Alright. We can give you a flyer. You don’t have to decide anything today.”

“Yeah,” I said. “A flyer would be good.”

She handed me a folded pamphlet—pink and white with big bold letters on the front: Know Your Options.

I took it, whispered a thank you, and walked out before I lost the nerve.

When I got home, the first thing I noticed was the sound of dripping water. The ceiling was still leaking from last week’s storm. I didn’t even try to fix it anymore. Just shoved a bowl under it and prayed it wouldn’t collapse.

It was freezing. The small heater by the wall wasn’t doing much. I wrapped myself in the blanket I always used, the one with frayed edges and holes near the corners. I curled up on the couch and pulled the flyer from my coat pocket.

The room was dead silent as I opened the pamphlet.

My eyes scanned the words. The bold text. The sterile medical terms. First-trimester abortion. Safe. Legal. Effective. It broke down the process step by step. Timelines. Symptoms. Recovery. Counseling. All of it.

And as I read, I felt a tear fall down my cheek.

Because this—

This was never the life I imagined.

I used to be someone. I used to wear blazers and carry planners and walk into rooms like I belonged there. I used to make plans, dreams, schedules.

And now?

Now I was sitting on a lumpy couch with a leaking ceiling, trying to decide if I should end a life that hadn’t even started yet.

I pressed my hand gently against my stomach. There was nothing visible yet. But I felt it. I knew something was there.

I closed my eyes.

And I remembered my dad.

He used to take me to the playground every Sunday, rain or shine. He’d push me on the swings, laugh with me, make up stories about the clouds in the sky. He wasn’t rich. He didn’t have much. But he gave me everything that mattered.

Time. Presence. Love.

And that’s what I wanted to give my child, too.

I sniffed and wiped my eyes, but the tears didn’t stop. I wasn’t weak. I was just… tired. So fucking tired of choosing between survival and dreaming.

Then suddenly, there was a knock on the door. My entire body jumped. I sat up, the flyer falling from my lap.

Who the hell would visit me at this hour?

I grabbed the nearest thing I could find—a frying pan from the kitchen counter—and crept toward the door, heart hammering.

I raised the pan like I was going to war, took a breath, and yanked the door open—

“Woah!” a voice shouted.

“Tristan?!” I yelled, lowering the pan in shock.

He had his hands up like I was about to beat him into the next decade. His eyes were wide, and his hair was a mess, wind-blown and wild.

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” I said, voice breathless.

“I—I came to talk,” he said. “Please don’t hit me with that thing.”

I stared at him, speechless. My chest rising and falling like I’d just run a marathon.

He looked past me into the apartment. His eyes softened when he saw the blanket on the couch. The flyer on the floor. The dripping bowl.

And I didn’t know if I wanted to slam the door or throw myself into his arms.