Camila's POV
I was surprised when Henry came and grabbed my hand, demanding I explain everything to him. I didn't know how he found out. But when he revealed that he had received a letter, I was shocked, wondering who could have sent it. Could it be Nancy?
After I left him standing outside the bar, I walked inside. Nancy was waiting for me, a look of concern on her face.
"Who the hell was that, and why did he just come and grab your hand like that?" she asked, her eyes flashing with anger.
I sighed, feeling the weight of the unexpected confrontation. "It's complicated, Nancy. Something unexpected came up, and Henry found out about it."
Nancy's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Is this about the baby? Did you tell him?"
"No, Nancy, I didn't. He found out through some letter, and I have no idea who sent it," I explained, my frustration evident.
"A letter? Who the hell sent him the letter?" she asked, curiosity crossing her face.
When I studied her closely, I realized she wasn't the one who sent it. If it wasn't Nancy, then who did?
A sudden tap on the table brought me back to reality. "Camila, are you listening?" Nancy asked, noticing my mind had wandered.
I shook my head, attempting to refocus. "Sorry, Nancy. My mind is all over the place right now."
She frowned, contemplating the situation. "Well, he seemed pretty upset. What are you going to do?"
I shook my head, feeling overwhelmed. "I don't know, Nancy. This is a mess. I never wanted it to go down like this."
Nancy sighed, her concern softening her features. "You need to talk to him, Camila. Whatever is happening, keeping him in the dark won't help."
"I know, but it's not that simple," I muttered, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on me.
Nancy gave me a sympathetic look. "Just figure things out, Camila. For your sake and the baby's."
"I know... but what keeps running through my head is, who the hell told him I was pregnant? I never told anyone except you... so who?"
"Well… whoever did, I guess they had your best interest at heart," Nancy said, her words carrying a mix of understanding and concern. "Maybe they knew you'd try to handle everything yourself and leave the father of the child in the dark."
"But they complicated everything!" I replied, frustration evident in my voice. "Now Henry is upset, and I have no idea how to fix this mess."
Nancy reached across the table, placing a reassuring hand on mine. "Camila, you can't control everything. People make decisions, even with good intentions, that end up causing chaos. What matters now is how you handle it moving forward."
I nodded, appreciating Nancy's attempt to provide comfort. "You're right. I just need to face this head-on and talk to Henry."
As we discussed possible ways to approach the conversation, another guy walked toward us, trying to buy us a drink. This time, I wasn't in the mood and politely declined.
"Hey, ladies, just trying to lighten the mood," the guy said with a smile.
"Thanks, but we're dealing with some personal stuff right now," Nancy replied, shooting him an apologetic look.
He nodded understandingly and left us alone. Nancy and I continued our conversation, mapping out a plan to talk to Henry. We agreed that honesty was the best approach, even though it meant confronting uncomfortable truths.
As we left the bar, the cool night air hit us—a sharp contrast to the warmth inside. Nancy offered to drive me home, sensing that I needed time to process everything.
As we drove through the quiet streets, my mind raced. I knew I had to talk to Henry about the letter, but I wasn't sure how to start the conversation. Would this ruin everything?
When Nancy dropped me off at my apartment, I took a deep breath and stepped inside. The space that once felt comforting now seemed filled with uncertainty and unanswered questions. I paced around the living room, grappling with the decision to confront Henry.
My phone buzzed, interrupting my thoughts. It was a message from Nancy:
"You got this, Camila. Just be honest and face it head-on. Let me know if you need anything."
Her words offered small comfort—a reminder that I wasn't alone in this.
As I settled on the couch, contemplating the upcoming conversation, I couldn't shake the feeling that the letter had set off a chain of events that would reshape my life.
Would Henry and I be able to move past this, or was this the beginning of the end?
I took a deep breath and sent a message back to Nancy:
"Thanks, I appreciate the support. I know I have to talk to him about it, but I'm nervous."
Before I could receive a response, another message came in. It was from Henry.
"Camila, I know we need to talk, and I'm ready when you are. Just let me know."
My heart pounded as I stared at the message. How did he get my number? I was sure I had never given it to him.
My fingers hovered over the screen as a dozen questions flooded my mind. Had he gone through someone I knew? Had he been trying to reach me for a while?
A strange mix of nervousness and curiosity settled in my chest. Did I even want to know the answer? Did it matter? The fact that he had my number now meant that the conversation I had been trying to avoid was inevitable.
I quickly texted back:
"How did you get my contact?"
As soon as I hit send, I clenched my phone tightly, waiting for his response. The three little dots appeared almost immediately, disappearing and reappearing, as if he was hesitating before answering.
Seconds stretched into what felt like minutes. My stomach twisted with anticipation.
Finally, my phone vibrated with his reply.
"Olivia gave me your number," Henry wrote. "I hope that's okay. I promise not to abuse the privilege."
My heart started racing. I knew I couldn't put this off any longer.
I had to face the unknown…