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“Brian, have you and Dior weighed your options?” Belinda asked calmly as they sat face to face at the kitchen table.
“What options?” he asked defensively.
“Well, you’re both young and a baby is a big responsibility for anyone, but for you and—”
“I can’t take care of my child cuz I’m in a wheelchair?” he asked.
“That’s not what I’m saying, baby,” she said as she placed her hand on top of his. “All I’m saying is that it’s going to be very hard for the both of you, and it’ll tie you together for a very long time.”
“And you don’t think she’ll stick around cuz I’m stuck in this chair?” he asked as his emotions started to get the best of him.
“That’s not what I’m saying at all,” Belinda said slowly as she tried to think of the best way to say what she needed to say without hurting her son.
“Me and Dior talked about it and we keepin’ our baby. I’ll stop therapy and use my trust fund to help with the baby,” he said as he regained his composure.
“No, you can’t do that. I know you want to be there for your child, but that’s not the way. You have to give therapy your all. If you guys are sure this is what you want to do, I’ll support you and we’ll figure everything out,” Belinda assured him.
She couldn’t let her child give up on recovery for anyone, not even his own child.
Brian went to his room and called Dior to see how she was doing. He’d expected Donna to be upset, but not like that. She had looked like she was going to kill Dior.