In fact, we haven't been careful at all.
Every time we've been together, there's been no discussion of protection, no pause for practicality.
Just need and want and now.
No. No, it's just stress.
Stress can mess with your cycle.
That's a thing.
That's definitely a thing.
I learned that in the two years of medical school I actually completed.
The body responds to trauma by shutting down non-essential functions.
Reproduction is non-essential when you're running from predators.
Or from traffickers with revenge fantasies.
I flush the toilet and rinse my mouth, avoiding my reflection in the mirror.
I don't want to see my own face right now.
Don't want to see the fear in my eyes.
Don't want to acknowledge what some deep, instinctive part of me already knows.
It's just stress.
RJ is still asleep when I slip back into the bedroom.
He's been running himself ragged the last few days, coordinating with my father, setting up new security protocols, barely sleeping.
When he does sleep, it's light and restless, his body coiled for action even in unconsciousness.
I watch him for a moment, this man who's turned my life upside down.
His face is softer in sleep, the hard edges smoothed away.
He looks younger, less like a soldier, more like someone who might want a family someday.
Family.
The word echoes through me, heavy with new meaning.
I press a hand to my stomach and feel nothing.
No flutter, no movement, nothing to indicate that there might be something growing inside me.
It's too early for that.
Way too early, if there's even anything there at all.
But I need to know.
I can't keep wondering, can't keep living in this limbo of maybe and what-if.
