Page 45 of The Scratch


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I grabbed my phone and texted her.

You remember when you found out you were pregnant?

The typing dots blinked.

Uhh… yeah. Why you asking?

You were throwing up, right? Outta nowhere.

Rayna… what’s this about?

Just asking.

A long pause. Too long.

Then:

You late?

My throat tightened. I was trying to do the numbers but keeping up with them wasn’t my thing. Every doctor’s appointment when I was asked for my last period I’d struggle to recall. I only knew they came monthly. But now… I don’t remember needing to use any pads last month and I started a new pack of pills. I swallowed bile down as I tried to control my panic.

Maybe.

Maybe?? Girl.

I stared at the screen, waiting for more. Ten minutes. Fifteen. Nothing.

Then my doorbell rang.

I stumbled out of bed, tugging my robe tighter. When I opened the door, Shawna stood there, in her dress with heels, a bag in her hand. Her face was all no-nonsense.

“Ain’t no point beating around the bush,” she said,pushing past me. “You think you pregnant. I can tell by all your damn questions.”

She held up the bag. A box of pregnancy tests peeked out the top.

“Let’s find out.”

I sank onto the couch, nerves buzzing harder than any live wire I’d ever held.

“Shawna—”

“Nope. Don’t Shawna me. Bathroom. Now.”

Her words were blunt, but her eyes were soft. She’d been here before. She knew what it felt like.

My hands shook as I took the box. The weight of it, the crinkle of the plastic, the reality pressing down all at once.

Because whether it showed two lines or not, nothing would be the same after.

Chapter 23

The Facts

Something was off. I’d felt it all week—her texts short, her voice thin when I called. She dodged coming over, claiming she was tired. Rayna wasn’t the type to sugarcoat, so when she started pulling back, I knew better than to call it a coincidence.

By Friday, I couldn’t take the distance. I stopped at our usual spot, picked up Thai—her favorite drunken noodles, withextra spice. When she opened the door, she smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Hair twisted into a bun, skin still glowing but muted, tired.

“You brought food,” she said, like it was homework.