Chapter 2: The Algorithm Doesn't Wait

A sudden tightness gripped my abdomen.

I braced myself against the arm of the sofa, waiting for the cramp to pass before looking at Ben.

“I don’t feel well. Can you take me home?”

Before Ben could answer, Mara hugged her laptop to her chest.

“No. The video has to be edited within two hours.”

She scrolled through the footage, her voice urgent.

“The party just ended. Everyone’s waiting for the follow-up. If we post now, we’ll catch peak traffic. Any later and the buzz will be gone.”

Ben glanced at his watch and nodded.

“She’s right. This video has a huge twist. We have to move fast.”

I met his gaze.

“But my stomach keeps cramping.”

He finally looked up, but instead of moving toward me, he pulled a few bills from his wallet.

“Baby, the algorithm doesn’t wait. This is our most important video ever. It affects all our future brand deals.”

He pressed the cash into my hand, along with the ring I still hadn’t put back on.

“Just call a cab and go home and rest. I’ll come check on you after we’re done editing.”

The few bills felt like an insult.

So this was my fiancé’s idea of responsibility: leave me and the baby alone late at night with just enough cash for a cab.

“Ben, come on.”

My mother urged him on from the side.

“How is Mara supposed to handle all this by herself? She’s been preparing for today for so long. Don’t hold her up.”

Mara was already carrying her laptop toward the study.

Ben took a few steps after her, then turned back to me.

“Text me when you get home.”

Then he closed the door.

Through the crack, I heard Mara’s excited voice.

“Start with the part where Claire cries. Slow down the close-up on the ring.”

I walked out of the house alone.

The night wind under the porch carried the chill of the sea, freezing my hands and feet.

The rideshare app was surging. Estimated wait: twenty-eight minutes.

I hit confirm and eased myself down onto the steps, one hand braced on the porch pillar.

Every now and then, laughter drifted out from the house.

Just a door away, they were replaying my terror on a loop.

And I sat there alone, one hand on my cramping stomach, waiting for a stranger to take me home.

Half an hour later, a gray sedan pulled up to the curb.

When the driver saw how pale I was, he immediately got out and opened the door for me.

“Are you okay? Do you need to go to the hospital?”

“Home, please. Thank you.”

He didn’t press, just turned up the heat and handed me a bottle of water from the passenger seat.

“Drink slowly. You look like you need to warm up.”

Warm air blasted over my stiff fingers. As I unscrewed the bottle, my eyes began to burn.

A perfect stranger knew to ask if I needed a hospital. My family had only cared about missing a traffic spike.

I opened my work email.

The HR message from the Seattle branch had been sitting there, unread, for twelve days.

I hadn’t replied because I couldn’t let go of Ben, because I was terrified of being pregnant and alone.

Now, I opened the email.

“Thank you for the offer. I would like to formally accept the transfer to the Seattle office.”

I entered my preferred start date, checked it one last time, and hit send.

The screen flashed: *Message Sent*.

I looked down at the ring in my palm. I didn’t put it back on.

In the future Ben Mercer had planned for himself and his sister’s child, the woman carrying it would be gone.