F.N.A.F. | In the Flesh | A.U. | "We Need To Talk About Jackson" | Part 9

During that time, I was trying to get ready for a new day. I decided to start dating again—not because it was smart, but because I wanted a distraction. I was overwhelmed and stressed, and instead of dealing with it, I tried to escape it.

While getting dressed for the date, I was struggling to put on my pants. I was bloated—not painfully, but noticeably. It felt like the bloating was coming on, like pressure building. I think this was about a month after the day I had broken down crying. It wasn’t funny at all. I was sweaty too, which made it worse, but I kept telling myself I needed the distraction.

I was stressed because Jason had told me that Jackson was going to let him keep the baby for a couple of weeks so he could get things together. That looming responsibility was sitting heavy in my mind. Halfway through getting dressed, I remember thinking, "This is stupid. I should be preparing for the kid. I should be preparing for whatever stress is coming."

But I didn’t listen to myself. I kept getting ready for the date anyway.

Being bloated reminded me of a past date I’d gone on years before. The woman, Emma, showed up much heavier than her profile pictures—like she’d gained at least 25 pounds. We barely talked. It was awkward. At one point, I told her she was much bigger than her photos, and she asked if that mattered. We didn’t fight, but the tension was obvious. The date ended early because there was nothing there.

Back then, I was a pretty superficial guy. This was before I met my ex-wife. I didn’t like that Emma was overweight, and I’m sure she could tell how I felt. The awkwardness went both ways.

Now I was standing there, bloated and uncomfortable, thinking, "Wow. Now I’m the fat one."

I tried to button my pants, and the button popped open. The front just gave out. That was my cue. I changed into a bigger pair, left the tight ones at home, and went on the date anyway. There was a slight pressure in my stomach—nothing extreme—so I brushed it off. I figured it was probably gas. I tried burping, didn’t think much of it, and left.

I went on the date and met a really attractive woman. I’ve always been attracted to Asian women—Chinese, Japanese—and Black women too. I ended up going out with a Chinese woman. She was cute, cuddly, very proper, prim, and put-together—exactly like the images & the videos you see of Chinese women online. We talked, the chemistry was good, and honestly, the date went really well.

It did its job. It distracted me from the reality that a baby girl was about to come live in my house.

Then Cailee moved in.

Cailee was a beautiful baby—chonky, healthy, about seven months old at the time. Nobody minded the chunkiness. If anything, it made her cuter. We were all pretty chill about it.

It was a good period. She didn’t stay permanently at first—Jackson needed more time—but weeks passed, then months. Suddenly we had a seven-, eight-, then nine-month-old in the house.

Things were calm. Jason helped out. Jason’s girlfriend helped. I helped. It worked.

Eventually, Jason said, “After we put the baby back with Jackson, he’s talking about getting a DNA test so everything can be cleared up officially.” He told me that if Jackson really believed I had slept with Samantha, then the test needed to happen, and if it came back that Jackson was the father, Jackson would take Cailee permanently.

I told him I was fine with the DNA test. I never slept with Samantha. But Jackson was acting unstable, and I didn’t want him assuming anything—especially knowing what he’d already tried to do. His behavior was alarming. He wasn’t eating, was acting paranoid, and I was genuinely concerned he might poison someone or do something worse.

Still, I wasn’t anxious about the results. I knew the truth. The only thing that scared me was the what if—what if the company messed up, mixed papers, or glitched? That would’ve been a nightmare. But I kept telling myself, "It’ll be fine. It always is with these companies."

The DNA test came back.

99.99% Jackson’s.

0% Jason’s.

0% mine.

That was a blessing. A massive relief. Everything was exactly as it should have been.

To be continued...