And it feels like the world holds its breath.
Mine stops entirely.
And then she says it.
And I think I might be dying.
“I’m pregnant.”
The moon could shatter above us and I wouldn’t notice. The world could split open beneath our feet, the mouth of hell swallowing us whole and I wouldn’t feel it. Every thought inside my skull empties in an instant.
Pregnant.
With my child.
Withours.
For a long moment, I don’t move. I can’t. All I can do is stare at her, the words echoing around in my head with a kind of awe I’ve never felt in my life.
“Say it again,” I manage, but it comes out like a plea.
Her eyes lift to mine, full of fear and fragile hope.
“I’m pregnant.”
My breath leaves me in a slow, trembling exhale.
Not shock.
But something deeper, baser, primal.
It feels like a vow etching its way into my bones.
I reach for her, both hands now, pulling her into my lap as if she belongs nowhere else. My forehead presses to hers, our breaths mingling, my hands sliding to her waist, her ribs, her back as if relearning every part of her with new meaning, before finding the swell of her belly hidden beneath the oversized fabric of her torn long-sleeved T-shirt.
“You’re carrying my child,” I whisper.
Penelope nods, a tiny movement against my lips.
“And you were out here alone, down in the-”
Her breath hitches, guilt flickering in her eyes. “I didn’t know anyone would be down there…” she turns away, dropping her gaze as my hands tighten on the hard curve of her belly. “I was looking for a way out,” she confesses, something inside of me suddenly hot and prickly.
“A way out?” I pull back just enough to look at her fully, my hands tightening around her waist. “You were going to leave me?” She swallows, lips trembling, I shake my head slowly. “Penelope…”
She blinks hard, tears spilling over, “I was trying to keep him safe.”
“Him?” I ask her, my head doing all kinds of crazy things, working out numbers, dates, weeks, months, five since I last sawher, the night of our union, was she already pregnant before that? “You already know he’s a boy?”
“Well,no,” she sniffs, shaking her head, “It’s just.” She shrugs. “A feeling.”
Staring down between us, my hands on our baby, hers coming over top, she looks up at me, smiling, and I don't think I've ever seen her look more perfect than now.
I kiss her, savouring her, soft, slow, reverent. Her hands fist in my coat, pulling me closer, as if she’s afraid I’ll vanish again.
When I pull back, my breathing is erratic.
“They hurt you tonight,” I say quietly, trying to force the anger in my voice to quiet. “They touched what is mine. They could have taken you from me.” I press harder against her stomach, “From us.”
