That small, sudden bolt of resolve in my chest.
This isn’t the life I planned. Not by a long shot.
But it’s mine now.
And I will find a way to rise for them.
Two heartbeats.
Twice the fear. Twice the unknown.
But twice the love, too.
Maya leans in, her voice soft. “You okay?”
I nod slowly. “No.”
Then I wipe my face and say, more clearly this time:
“But I will be.”
On the drive home, it crashes in.
Not all at once, more like a slow implosion, wave after wave of realization that keeps slamming into me until I can barely breathe. My hands rest on my stomach like I’m trying to anchor myself to something real. Something solid.
But there’s nothing solid about this. Nothing steady.
I’m going to be a single mom.
Of twins.
My heart pounds in my ears. My chest feels too tight. I stare out the window at Silver Peak sliding past like a dream I can’t wake up from. The river, the cliffs, the little shops I used to love. They don’t feel like mine anymore.
Knox doesn’t know. And with the way things are now, with Savannah hanging around like a curse that won’t lift, with the way he won’t even look at me, I don’t know if he ever will.
How do you tell someone who’s already halfway gone?
Maya hasn’t said much. She just drives, her fingers flexing on the wheel every so often. She keeps glancing over at me like she’s waiting for the break. Like she already knows it’s coming.
And it does.
As we round the bend toward Summit Ridge Overlook, my throat tightens, my vision blurs, and I can’t hold it in anymore.
“Pull over,” I whisper, my voice barely working.
Maya doesn’t ask why. She just nods and steers the car onto the gravel shoulder, throwing it into park.
I push open the door and stumble out into the cold mountain air. It hits my lungs like ice, painfully so, but I welcome it. I need it.
I walk a few steps toward the guardrail and grip the metal like it’s the only thing keeping me upright.
And then I break.
The sob rips out of me so fast, so loud, it feels like it tears something loose in my chest. My knees buckle a little, and I lean forward, clutching the rail with both hands as my body shakes with the force of it.
I don’t try to stop it this time. I don’t try to be strong. I just cry, ugly, gasping, heartbroken tears.
“I can’t do this,” I choke. “I can’t. Maya, it’s too much. It’s too much.”
