I'm pregnant. That's what the stick in my hand tells me. It's hard to believe that a small plus sign can stir up such a mix of emotions within me. Fear and worry take the forefront, but there's also a hint of excitement blended with other feelings I've never felt before. The only thing scarier than what this plus sign means is how the father will react.

I sit down on the toilet lid, clutching the stick in my hands, and take a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm down. Finding the courage to tell Gabe is going to take a moment.

The sudden pounding on the door nearly gives me a heart attack.

My 'moment' is over.

"It's been three minutes, Sabrina. Come on!"

I close my eyes, trying to gather my courage. I've never really thought about being a mother, about having a baby, other than imagining myself failing at it like my own mother did. There were times with Jonathan when the thought popped into my mind, but I dismissed it, ready to search for the next job, the next big role that would launch me to stardom and garner my mother's approval. But if I had ever imagined it, it wouldn't have been like this. I wouldn't have been pregnant with Gabe Bradley's child—the man who has always judged me by my past and not my present. One who never wanted to work with me and despised me for years before we worked together.

When I started working with him, I convinced myself I hated him, too. But somewhere along the way, I stopped hating him and started to like him. Respect him. Care for him. And then? I fell in love with him. I've been denying it for weeks, but I can no longer deny it now.

His feelings for me, however, are another story. I'm likely the last person Gabe would want as the mother of his child.

"Sabrina, for God's sake, I'm going to break down the damn door if you don't come out."

Standing up on legs that are shaking, I pause as the world seems to spin.

As soon as I regain my balance, I open the door to find him there, towering over me, his impatience evident in his eyes. My gaze travels up his commanding figure, taking in his impressive stature. His dirty blond, chin-length hair is tied back, though a few strands have come loose, falling over his eye. With a quick flick, he brushes the strands away from his olive-green eyes, revealing a mix of concern and impatience.

Dressed in a plaid shirt and dark jeans, he exudes a captivating blend of ruggedness and charm. He resembles a cross between a lumberjack and a rockstar, making him undeniably attractive. Gabriel Bradly is the epitome of sexiness. However, it is my very inability to resist him that has led me into this complicated situation. Even when I hated him, I thought he was sex on a stick. Now that I know he knows how to use everything he was given by God, he's even more impressive. Even before I fell in love with him, the things he could do to me in bed as a lover beat all others.

"Well," he demands, arms crossed.

"See for yourself," I say, exhaling slowly and trying not to appear as rattled as I feel right now – how nervous I am.

I hold up the positive stick so he can see it. There's no reason to hand it over to him since I've peed on it.

"You're pregnant," he finally says.

It's phrased as a question, but it sounds more like an accusation. Knowing Gabe, he probably thinks I planned this. That I desired to be pregnant by a man who doesn't want me and loves another. Of course, I didn't.

"Yes, I'm pregnant."

I'm about to walk back into the bathroom when Gabe puts his hand out to stop me. "Where are you going? We need to talk about this."

"Obviously," I reply. "I'm going to wash my hands first, though."

He looks down at the stick in my hands and, realizing I'm holding something I've peed on, lets me go.

I walk back into the bathroom, place the stick down on the counter, and wash my hands before leaning on the sink and staring at my pale reflection in the mirror. My ash blonde hair is down and straight, instead of styled as it normally is for the show. My aqua eyes look washed out and dull. Maybe I'm not pregnant. Aren't pregnant women supposed to glow? Did my mother glow when she was pregnant with me? She never loved me, was never capable of it. Perhaps she should never have had me.

Should I get rid of this child?

No. As I stare at myself in the mirror, I see myself holding a baby. My baby. I'm hardly the woman people label nurturing or maternal. The very opposite, in fact. But I can't possibly be worse than my own mother, can I? If I love it, that's already more than my mother did with me. It should be impossible to feel that love for my baby now, and yet, I feel something that feels right, that feels warm and free and beautiful as I think about having a child, of loving it. The decision to keep it feels right.

Will Gabe want it?

Am I going to let it stop me, if he doesn't?

If Gabe doesn't want the baby, I'll raise it on my own. After all, I've done everything up to this point in my life solo. I can do this by myself too.

Gabe is pacing in my bedroom when I exit the ensuite.

"If you would rather not be involved in our child's life, then I'll accept your decision."

He turns on me angrily. "You can't seriously be thinking about keeping it."

The unbridled disgust in his voice leaves me shaken. I try not to show it, however, as I walk into the room and take a seat on the bed. "I'm thinking about it. I understand this is a shock, but at this stage, I'm leaning towards keeping it."

He shakes his head and opens his mouth, but clearly can't find the words to express himself. Suddenly, his eyes glint and narrow as they observe my seemingly calm appearance.

"Did you plan this, Sabrina?"

"Yes," I sigh. "Yes, I totally planned to get pregnant by a man who can only stand me when he's fucking me."

I swear I see him flinch. The fact that he doesn't deny it, however, makes me flinch.

"You're supposed to be on the pill."

"I was. I am. I never missed one, Gabe. There was only that one time...the last time we were together after I'd been throwing up."

Despite the subject matter, his eyes heat up at the memory of our uncontrollable lust.

"You've turned me into an addict," he'd said that night.

"This is as much a surprise to me as it is to you," I state.

He walks to the bed and sits down next to me. Despite my emotions being all over the place and knowing he's unhappy, I still react to his proximity, his scent, his everything. Gabriel Bradley could be my kryptonite. Emotionally. Physically. It is my very inability to resist him that has led me into this...complicated situation.

Somehow, he trained me to be like this. Somehow, I stopped being wary and guarded around him, and I fell in love with him. An emotion he will never return.

"You know Ryan won't keep you on if you're pregnant," he says softly. "Not after everything that's already happened."

I close my eyes as I contemplate the truth of what he's saying. Ryan has put up with so much already since I started working with him. The show's publicist hates me, and every time I get through one disaster, another blows up. This might be the straw that breaks the camel's back.

"I know, but I've got savings."

Not much, and I don't know what I'll do when they run out, but Gabe doesn't need to know that.

"Sabrina, having a baby... it's a lot of hard work. You know my sister is a single mother and I've seen firsthand what she's gone through. The first year with Ryder, she went to hell and back taking care of him on her own. Your lifestyle is the last thing I'd call baby-friendly."

When I see him eyeing my wine collection, I say, "I'll change."

His expression smacks of doubt, and even though he hasn't said the words out loud, I hear them anyway: "You're going to be a terrible mum."

I feel them from him.

"I don't want this, Sabrina. I'm not ready to be a father, and we'd be terrible parents. If you go through with this, you'll be on your own."

On your own.

The words repeat because they are so true. The rest of the cast hates me after the headlines about Cooper and me, and after Jonathan's interview. My mother has betrayed me over and over again, in the worst ways possible, and my father has never acknowledged my existence.

So, I understand being on my own. I've always been on my own. Why should now be any different?

"I can handle it."

"You've always been proud," Gabe murmurs.

I look up at him. It would be easy enough to delude myself into believing I'm seeing something in his eyes that isn't there. Easy enough to mistake fear and confusion for concern and affection. But I'm no fool. He cares about me no more now than he did before we started sleeping together.

Gabe looks at his watch. "I need to head back to the studio."

"A scene with Chelsea?" I can't quite manage to keep the bitterness and jealousy out of my voice, and it's enough to stop Gabe in his tracks and make him look at me.

"My scenes with Chelsea are a problem for you now?"

"Not at all, Gabe. I mean, I'm not your girlfriend. I'm not anyone to you, am I?"

I never was anything to him but a bed warmer—a substitute, and a poor one at that, for the woman he really wants—the woman he loves and is perhaps even within his reach now. The woman comparable to Snow White, while I'm compared to the wicked stepmother.

"No." His eyes drop to my belly. "And you shouldn't try to be anything to a child, either, Sabrina. You should stick to what you do best. Acting. This is real life, not some part in a TV show. The child would be real and have real needs. It deserves better."

It's the harshest blow to my esteem he's ever dealt. Me care for a baby? Preposterous. I only care about myself, don't I?

Now that he's shredded any hope I might have had that he might want our baby. Or me. That he might have been able to look past the act I've put on for years, the act I've tried to shake off so people see the person beneath the 'meal girl' image I wore for protection when I was younger—he's leaving. Heading for the door. Walking away for good.

Reminding myself I should have ended this so many times, and this has been over for weeks, doesn't stop my heart from feeling as if he's punched it out of my chest.

"Gabe," I call out.

He turns around.

"From your...we...I mean, this thing between us is finished now."

I congratulate myself for sounding normal when normal is the last thing I feel right now. This is closure. This is the conversation we needed to have weeks ago.

He shakes his head. "This thing between us was a mistake. And the only thing to come from mistakes are more mistakes."

When his gaze flicks over my belly, I protectively cover my stomach with my hand. Insanity, since the child probably doesn't have ears and Gabe would never come at me. But he's never needed to attack me physically to hurt me. Both the baby and our fling are mistakes to him. I shouldn't have expected anything more or less. Even now, I'm imagining the flicker of regret in his eyes. I can't trust my own eyes. For as long as I can remember, the only lens he's viewed me through is the one of my past actions. He's never been able to see me.

He never will see me.

"Goodbye, Sabrina."

The finality in his voice and the sound of the door slamming hit me so hard that I curl up on my bed, feeling the hot and wet glide of tears down my cheeks. I should never have fallen in love with him. Not that he gave me much choice, really.

But I don't need Gabe. I don't need anyone. I'll do this by myself. Yes, it will be hard, but I'll be the best mother in the world, even if it kills me.

"You should stick to what you do best. Acting. This is real life. Not some part in a TV show. The child would be real and have real needs. It deserves better."

Can I really blame him for saying so? Even though I've tried to make amends, I've hurt people. My time on the show has been fraught with upheaval and chaos. And you shouldn't judge him either, not until you know our story. I intend to tell you all of it. To understand everything, I must take you back to the start. The first time I met Gabe was at The Australian TV Industry Awards afterparty, eleven years ago. To say we didn't get off to the best of starts... Well, that's the understatement of the century.