be a joke.
now, a van would drive up and Ashton Kutcher would slide the door open,
laughing hysterically at my melodramatic performance on the front porch.
on the page jumbled into a toxic mess my brain refused to comprehend, much less
to arrange a paternity test (DNA).
remembered Chelsea Airy.
true—we’d gone out once, and we’d been friends for a while after. But I hadn’t
heard so much as a peep from her since I’d gotten married. I’d reached out a
handful of times, but she’d quit responding and fell off the face of the earth.
There hadn’t been a text, an email, a phone call, not even a Facebook message,
much less a stork in the last five years.
could forgive a lot, but she’d never wanted children—much less another woman’s.
Stephie Walls is a literary whore – she loves words in all forms and will read anything put in front of her. She has an affinity for British Literature and Romance novels and an overall love of writing. She currently has six novels out, four short stories, and two collections; all provocatively written to elicit your imagination and spice up your world.