“ Four weeks old. It's that month, fuck, that month.” Tamara cussed between her teeth. Her heart was racing with her trembling legs and hands.

She kept biting her nails off her fingers.

“ Who's the father?” She asked herself, dragging her palm down her wrinkled face. “ How am I supposed to know the father when Mason forced himself on me that night, and Shawn slept with me a few hours later.”

She grunted, crouched down on the bathroom floor, and shook her head.

‘It can't belong to Mason, that loser. That would be the end of me; he doesn't have anything of value or a good thing going...