In just short of two months, Cay was just barely showing, and she was convinced that if anyone noticed at all, they'd think she was just getting chubbier around the waist. There was no denying that her stomach was slightly more bloated, more extended than usual, and though no one else would notice, her pants felt tighter. The longer she could keep her pre-baby physique, the better. It meant she could still show herself in public, that she could bide her time with her mother, that she could visit her father and brother a few more times. She knew that once the baby came, there was no way she could hide it from her family morally speaking, but she was sure when she shared the story with her father that he would debate tracking down Alasdair Lusk himself. Though the thought was at one point faintly amusing, now the thought was terrifying. Now that she had been carted off into a small, hilly town in Scotland, pulled away from her tiny London flat, and hidden away from the world. Her new situation was courtesy of Mrs. Lusk, who had been the first and only person to find out about Cay's future child with her son. It was a grave mistake, the result of stupidity and carelessness so severe that Cay hardly believed it of herself. But now she was forbidden from seeing Alasdair, from contacting him. She was paid off, threatened, and shooed out the door.
In a way, she was sightly empathetic with Mrs. Lusk. Alasdair was far from father material, and she was a halfblood. She knew what she was getting herself into from the start, and allowing herself to become pregnant in the first place was her first mistake of many. After the fated act, she had immediately had a feeling that although the chances of pregnancy were slim in their particular situation, that she was off. She immediately made her way to her former workplace and purchased a book on pregnancy, and as soon as she was able, she got herself tested. The positive result rocked her, and it took her three weeks to even bring it up to him, and in the moment, she was cowardly. If she had just sucked it up and found a way to tell him to his face, she might still have him by her side. But then, who knows if he would've wanted to stick around anyway. His mother intercepted the letter addressed to Alasdair, containing the information that he had the right to know. Immediately, the carpet was pulled out from under her feet, and one month into her pregnancy, she was in the cold north, in a unfamiliar cottage with a vegetable patch and a goat to keep her company, with enough money to get her through the next five years, probably. What did the Lusks do with so much money? She couldn't fathom it.
For the first time since she had been locked away in her tower, Cay was venturing off to Diagon Alley with her pregnancy book in hand, ready to tell her mother that it was a gift from a friend, so she could do a bit of reading in Regent's Park after her visitation. She would treat herself to a lovely ride on the London Underground, which she felt that she had mastered completely in her time in London, and then spend the rest of the day in the cold air, though it was warmer than in Cay's small Scottish town. Why Mrs. Lusk couldn't have just sent her back to Ireland was beyond questioning, but she was thankful to have a roof over her head and bread on her table. The chances of running into Dair were slim, but stepping out of St. Mungos was harder than she thought. The walk down had been the same. Every head of blonde hair was him, every tall, well-dressed man was him, and though she didn't know what she would do if she crossed his path, she was almost hopeful to meet his eyes in this crowd of people. Her eyes fell on another face that could've been his, and she resigned to reading her book, using her peripherals to guide her on her way. At least this way she could get some useful information on her walk, and she could begin to ignore the pain.
