I walk faster, head down, doing my best to disappear into the beige walls. My thoughts keep spinning back to the nurse, hoping she doesn’t say anything to Mrs. Jackson. If she asks, Mrs. Jackson will know I never needed the nurse—she has aspare key to the infirmary which I took off her without telling her.
One more loose thread for me to trip over.
The shame digs in deeper. I can’t stop thinking about Jace. I scanned every face in the rec hall earlier, hoping for a glimpse of him, even a scowl from across the room. He wasn’t there. That means he’s still in solitary. Locked away, all because he tried to protect me. Because I let things get out of control.
I press my hand to my belly, feeling the sick twist of dread settle low and heavy. After what happened with Rodriguez at the pizza place, I haven’t been able to shake the feeling that something’s off. The way my stomach turned, the way I had to run to the bathroom and throw up before he could interrogate me any further—it was more than just nerves.
That night, I lay awake in my motel room, the harsh orange light from the street bleeding through the curtains. I counted back the days, trying to remember the last time I had my period. It’s always been unpredictable—sometimes late, sometimes skipped entirely. I told myself it was just my weight, stress, the chaos of my life. Easier to blame that than face the truth.
But it’s been weeks. Maybe more. Every time I think about going to the doctor, my chest locks up, icy and cold. What would I even say? I can’t handle another secret. Not now, not on top of everything else.
I keep my hand pressed to my stomach, half-afraid, half-hopeful. Could it be possible? Or is this just another way my body is betraying me, making everything harder, messier, more dangerous? I’m too much of a coward to find out. There’s too much riding on me already.
I move down the hallway, shoes squeaking, wishing for the hundredth time that I could turn invisible. If the nurse talks to Mrs. Jackson, if anyone starts asking questions, the whole thing could come crashing down.
Jace is in solitary because of me. Levi and Nico are at each other’s throats. The ATF is circling, waiting for me to screw up. And I can’t even get my own body to cooperate.
I blink back tears, refusing to let them fall. Not here.
The next morning,I wake before my alarm. I stare at the ceiling of my motel room, the ancient air conditioner clicking in the window, the neon motel sign painting everything in cold pink stripes. My stomach is in knots. My hands shake as I pour coffee I can’t drink, get dressed in clean jeans and a sweater, tie my hair back with trembling fingers.
I look at myself in the mirror, circles under my eyes, color gone from my cheeks.
The streets are half-empty when I call a rideshare. The driver barely glances at me as I sit in the back, hugging my purse, knees bouncing with every bump. The clinic is three miles out, a squat brick building tucked behind a pawn shop and a payday loan place. The sign saysWomen’s Health & Family Planningin faded blue. I slip inside, the glass door clattering shut behind me.
The waiting room smells like antiseptic and old magazines. A mother with a toddler sits in one corner, a woman with a bandaged hand at the other. I fill out the clipboard, my handwriting almost illegible, and hand it back to the receptionist, who doesn’t smile.
They call my name after twenty minutes. I follow the nurse through a maze of narrow hallways painted pastel green, every step making me want to turn back. She’s kind, all business. She hands me a cup, shows me to a tiny bathroom. I close the door,lock it, and sit on the toilet, staring at the old sticker on the back of the door—You’re not alone—before I finally manage to pee.
When I come out, the nurse takes the sample and leaves me alone in the exam room. The paper on the table crinkles under me. My palms sweat. I count the tiles on the floor, read the faded posters about prenatal vitamins and birth defects, feel the seconds drag.
The doctor knocks quietly before entering. She’s older, Indian, with silver-streaked hair and the kindest eyes I’ve seen in months. She checks my chart, smiles gently, and sits beside me. “Carrie? I’m Dr. Patel. You did a pregnancy test this morning.”
I nod, throat tight.
She takes my hand, warm and reassuring. “It’s positive, sweetheart. You’re pregnant.”
I close my eyes. I don’t faint, but I feel close. I grip the edge of the table. “Are you sure?”
She nods. “The test is very clear. I’d like to do an ultrasound, just to see how far along you are.”
I nod again, unable to find words. The nurse comes in and helps me onto the table, raises my shirt, spreads cool gel across my lower belly. Dr. Patel presses the probe to my skin. The machine whirs, and after a moment, a little flicker of movement appears on the black-and-white screen.
“There,” she says softly, turning the monitor toward me. “That’s your baby.”
The room spins and steadies again. My eyes fill with tears. I blink them away, trying to memorize every pixel on the screen, the faint pulse, the beginning of a heartbeat. A grainy miracle, so impossibly small.
Dr. Patel prints out a picture and hands it to me. “You’re about six weeks along, Carrie. Are you feeling okay?”
I nod, wiping my cheeks with the back of my hand. “I guess I am now.”
She waits a moment, then asks gently, “Do you know who the father is? Sometimes that helps us estimate things, but if you’re not sure, that’s okay too.”
I look up at the doctor. She’s a kind lady. I feel like I don’t have to lie to her. “I…I don’t know. It could be my ex, Jinn. Or…” I almost say their names, but the words catch. “There were others, more recently. I’m not sure.”
Her face is soft, never judging. “It’s alright. This happens more than you think. If you decide you want to know, we can help with paternity tests later on.”
For a second, I wish desperately that someone—anyone—was here with me. Even Marcy, after all that’s happened, would be better than this hollow silence. I wish for Levi, for Nico, for Jace—someone to hold my hand, to squeeze my shoulder, to help me face the future. But I’m alone. And I have to be strong.
