"Rowan… I'm pregnant."
The words froze him in place.
In modern society, those words were a double-edged sword. To some, they were a blessing — the promise of family, legacy, and joy.
To others… a death sentence.
Fortunately, Rowan McManus belonged to the second category.
"Y-you're pregnant?"
He stammered, his voice shaking with fear. "Uh… wow. That… that's… I mean… congratulations?"
Tasha Cruz, his colleague—the woman who had just told him she was pregnant—frowned at him.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
She said, bringing out an envelope and dropping it on his work desk.
"You're the father."
Rowan's eyes widened the moment the word hit him.
Father?
His gaze dropped to the envelope — the damned thing that carried proof of his undoing.
His fingers trembled as he reached for it and opened it.
Inside the envelope were two sheets.
The first was a printed lab test result from a hospital. It had Tasha's name on it. Below her name, a line in bold black font:
Result: POSITIVE (hCG detected)
The second was a prenatal paternity report. His name was printed on it. Below it, a box of information that sealed his fate.
Paternity analysis (NIPP)
Combined Paternity Index (CPI): 9,999
Probability of paternity: 99.99%
His eyes fixed on that box, reading it over and over again.
"This… this can't be real," he muttered, his voice shaky. "I'm the father?"
"Yes," tasha said, folding her arms. "And you're gonna take full responsibility for it."
"Wait… what? No, no, no!" Rowan stammered, stumbling back from the desk.
"I— that can't be— that's impossible!"
He pressed his palms to his face, heart hammering. "I mean… we… I—how could this even happen?"
He looked up at her, eyes wide and desperate. "We— we've got to do something!"
"Something like what?" She asked, her eyes narrowing.
"I don't know, maybe… maybe we could abor—" He stopped himself, realizing too late what he'd just implied.
Tasha's eyes went wide, her expression twisting from shock to disgust.
"The hell did you just say?" she hissed. "You want me to get rid of it!?"
"I didn't mean—"
"Save it."
"You're going to take responsibility for this, Rowan. One way or another. If you don't, I'll make sure everyone at work hears about it—and I won't hesitate to take legal action."
She grabbed her bag and headed for the door, leaving him alone in the empty office.
Rowan sank into his chair, pressing his palms to his face.
"How… how did it even come to this?" His voice cracked. "I… I have bills. I have work. I can barely manage myself!"
He could feel the weight pressing down on him from all sides.
All because of that one night.
The night when he let his balls—instead of his brain—do the thinking for him.
With a weary sigh, he grabbed his coat and bag and stepped out into the night.
It was raining outside, and the streets were mostly empty, but Rowan didn't seem to care.
What do I do? I don't have money to pay for child support, and if anyone finds out....
He passed a small gas station, lost in thoughts of his ruined life.
Then bright lights appeared, coming straight at him.
A truck was barreling toward him!
His eyes widened in fear and alarm upon realizing that the truck wasn't showing signs of slowing down.
He had to move. Fast.
Adrenaline coursed through him and he made a desperate, almost miserable dive to the side in the last second, barely dodging the truck.
"Jesus… that was close…" he muttered, getting up from the wet pavement. His hands roamed over his mud-soaked clothes, checking for injuries.
When he couldn't find any, he let out a shaky sigh. "Phew… no injuries."
He spoke too soon.
The truck he'd just dodged slammed into the gas station behind him, hitting the storage tanks.
The explosion that followed sent balls of fire in every direction—including Rowan's.
He barely had time to react before the flames hit.
"…Figures," he muttered, staring at the inferno.