Free No One But You by Michelle Monkou Page A

Martha had a tone of dark walnut and short hair.
    Her attitude was bold, even brash. Did she bulldoze her way into Blake’s life? What about this young girl ultimately took him away from a life with her? Like Jackson had with her, did he conclude that Martha wasn’t good enough?
    Sara directed Martha around the kitchen. While the water boiled for the mixture, she excused herself to check on Jackson. Since his escape to her bedroom, he hadn’t stepped a foot out of the room.
    “Hey,” she called, popping her head in the doorway. “Comfortable?”
    “I’m fine. How about you?” He looked down at her arms. “Now that’s a pretty picture.”
    “Don’t even go down that road.” Sara paused, wondering if she should even begin to explain about this situation. “She’s Blake, my ex’s, woman.”
    Jackson nodded. Whatever he thought, he kept to himself. “She wants to know where’s Blake?”
    “And…can you help her?” He reached up and stroked the baby’s hair.
    “No, I can’t.”
    “Can’t or won’t.” Now he played with the baby’s fingers, cooing right along with her.
    “Don’t start with me. This baby is the only thing saving her mother from getting kicked out of my apartment. She doesn’t deserve anything better.”
    “Okay, calm down before you agitate the baby.” He stood and reached for the baby. “I want to hold her.”
    “All yours. Her name is Sonia.” Sara handed over the baby. “Let me see if her bottle is ready.”
    “Hello, little one,” Jackson said in a singsong lilt. Then he whispered, “I think there is about to be some drama going on.”
    The baby’s response was a loud wail that had Sara running into the room. Even Jackson looked surprised as the little body squirmed and tensed in full rage. Her brown face turned darker.
    “All yours.” Jackson promptly deposited the baby back in Sara’s arms.
    “Wimp,” Sara called over her shoulder, as she hurried back into the living room.
    “Thanks for keeping her.” Martha took her child, who recognized the bottle as her tool for ultimate satisfaction. The baby opened her little mouth to speed up the process. Once she was fully engaged in her meal, Martha resumed her seat.
    Sara remained standing with her arms folded.
    “I know this looks bad—me, being here with my child, asking for your help.”
    “That’s an understatement,” Sara said.
    “I don’t know what I was thinking that day at the church. You couldn’t marry him.” Martha’s voice cracked. “I loved him.”
    “Telling me a week, even a day before the wedding wasn’t an option? If you’re sleeping with my—Blake, you had to know my schedule. But you waited until I was in church with my family, friends, even co-workers to desecrate everything with your swollen belly and vile accusations.” Sara tapped her foot as the memory that didn’t need much coercion replayed. The sordid revelation took place when the priest asked if there was anyone who knew why these two should not be married. She used to think that question was rhetorical. No one expected anyone to speak up.
    However on that bitterly cold January morning, the exception ruled. At first, she thought Blake was being silly and had brought in one of his friends to play the part of the other woman. Martha had looked like a cartoon character with her bright-red, cocktail length dress. Her hair was styled in an upswept French roll, and her makeup was thick and theatrical. When she stood after raising a noisy objection, the church gasped because her stomach protruded as if delivery could occur in the next second.
    Sara’d wished that her body was weak because she would have liked to have closed her eyes and fainted and remained that way until everyone was long gone. Instead, her body stiffened from the onslaught of Martha’s nasty words, which weren’t acceptable in a polite crowd, much less in a church. Then Martha proceeded to tearfully explain to the church how Blake came to her bed when he