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"but there is something that happens when you are told you are too much. you begin to ask everyone, "how small would you like me?""

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I'm thinking normal thoughts!

Such as wanting a child. Really wanting a child. But you don't want a relationship and the hassle that comes with it. You just think you'd be a better mother than wife or girlfriend. You explore medical options but they come up short, so you think you'll do it the traditional way: having sex with a man. It will be fun and casual and you'll never ask for more, just disappear in the sea of people of this big city. You'll avoid saps and men who clearly don't know what they want. And maybe tell a lie or two.

You shuffle in your shrug, looking around once more. Clearly out of your depth in the bar, sticky pavement and couples around you groping at each other. None of the men who approached you so far have fit the ideal of a guy you'd have sex with, let alone be the father of your child. You're starting to give up on the idea, go back to a clinic and pay money for the deed, when you lock eyes with him. Time doesn't stop, or any romantic bullshit of the sort, but there's an understanding between the parts of the brain that are making you do this in the first place. This fella with sad eyes will do if he wants you.

He tells you his name is Simon, his stubble almost touching your cheek as he moves closer to your ear. You smile at him, trying hard to be the maneater you have never been, grabbing him lightly by the arm. He doesn't take much more convincing. In the dim streetlight, he's more human than the shadow he seemed in the building. He looks ahead, not minding you one bit, as you lead him to your hotel room. You think you play the part of the ingenue slut pretty well when you whisper that well, if he's clean... he doesn't need to put it on. Simon's answer is a twitch of his jaw and his maw on your neck. He fucks like he hasn't done it in a while, almost avid. You like that you two don't talk: there's no pretense of it being anything but a mutual use.

You're not that stupid to think you'll get pregnant in one go, of course. Simon and you see each other for two weeks, mostly fucking in your motel room or in his house, a drab apartment that reveals his perpetual singleness mirroring much of your own life. He lets go he's a soldier, and you think that must add up even if you have no experience. When the test tells you what you want to hear, you block Simon's contact and go back home, more thankful to the man than he will ever know.

Six months later, you're okay. Your belly barely bulges but your baby is growing just fine, the doctor says. Your family was shocked when you told them you were pregnant: for ease of everyone involved you insisted he doesn't want anything to do with your baby. Some part of you does feel a little bad, but you doubt a man as emotionally closed as Simon will miss you or want a kid.

You discover you're wrong when he steps in your way while going to work one morning. Seeing his scarred face almost send you in a panic, his massive body blocking your way. Unconsciously you cover your belly.

"Ya alrigh'?" Simon's tone isn't accusing but it's also not surpised enough for a casual meeting. Has he been searching for you?

"Yes," you let out. "I've been fine. Simon, sorry I-"

"Is it mine?" You breath out, panicking now. You want to say no. You need to say no. But your obvious fish gaping isn't helping your case.

"Why didn't ya tell me?"

"Because... because I want this baby. I did it on purpose. But I wasn't going to tell you." You sigh, unable to look at him in the eye. "I wanted it to be my baby. You don't need to give us or do anything for us..."

You can't see what he's doing, what his face is showing, but then he gets closer, taking hold of your shoulder gently.

"I understand."

Simon doesn't understand, in reality. He hovers around you like a satellite, peeking at a world that doesn't want him too close. He will bide his time, though. Once the baby is born, he'll get the new family he's been desperate to hold for years.