I sit on the edge of the tub, test in hand, heart pounding like I’ve just run a race.
Through the door, Will calls softly, “You okay?”
I take a breath. “Yeah. Just nervous.”
“Me too.”
I smile despite myself. “You don’t sound nervous.”
“I’m faking it.”
I laugh. It helps. A little.
Then I take the test and set it on the counter before joining Will in the newly painted bedroom.
Three minutes feel like thirty.
The alarm on my phone goes off, sharp and sudden in the silence.
I jump, heart crashing against my ribs. “I can’t look.”
Will doesn’t move at first. Just watches me with that steady gaze that always knows when to wait.
Then he nods. “Okay.”
My voice shakes. “Can you?”
He steps into the bathroom.
I press my hands together so tightly my knuckles ache. Every second feels stretched and fragile.
He picks up the test, flips it over, and studies it.
And then, calmly, almost like he’s telling me we’re out of coffee, he says, “Well, sugar, looks like it stuck.”
My lips part, but no sound comes out.
“It’s positive?” I whisper.
He turns to face me, holding the test gently between two fingers like it’s made of glass. And then he nods, smiling.
That soft, stunned kind of smile that’s half awe, half something deeper. Something that says he’s already in. That he’s already home.
I cover my mouth with my hand, overwhelmed. And then I throw myself into his arms.
“We’re having a baby, Will.” My voice cracks around the words, tears streaming unchecked down my cheeks. “Oh my god.”
His arms wrap around me instantly, holding me tight, grounding me.
“I hope these are happy tears, sugar,” he murmurs against my hair.
I pull back just enough to see his face, to cup his jaw with shaking fingers. “The happiest.”
My heart is wide open. No walls. No doubt.
“I love you so much, Will Flowers.”
His lips part like he wasn’t ready to hear it, but needed it more than air.
