Every streetlight is too bright, every store aisle feels too loud.I keep my head down as I grab the box.The cashier doesn’t look at me twice.Which is good, I don’t think I could handle even a curious glance.
I get home, lock the door with shaky hands and drop everything in the kitchen except the test box.
I sit on the edge of the tub, palms sweating, chest gripping tight.
“This is stress,” I tell myself again.“I’m sick.My hormones are messed up.My period will come.Any day.”
But my hand still opens the box, I still tear the plastic, my body still moves like it’s not mine as I do what the instructions say.
And then...
I wait.
The longest three minutes of my life.
Then one more.
Because I’m scared to look.
Because I already know.
Finally, I stand.Move one step closer.Two.
And there it is out there in the world.One word that changes everything.
Positive.
My knees buckle, and I slide down the wall until I’m sitting on the cold tile, back pressed to the tub.My breath shudders in and out, like the air is thick and doesn’t want to come into my lungs.Tears sting, but they don’t fall, not yet.I stare at the tiny plus sign that just rewrote my entire world.
I’m pregnant.
Pregnant.
My hand drifts to my stomach without permission.I am going to have a baby.
Not someday.
Not in the future, I never wanted to admit I dreamed up with Nate on autumn nights.
But now, here...with my heart bruised and my life in pieces.
My chest caves, and a sob breaks free.Because I always wondered if I even wanted this.If motherhood was meant for girls like me, girls raised on survival, not tenderness.Girls who weren’t taught how to soften for anyone, even themselves.
I always thought thatifit happened, I wanted it to be when I was steady.When I was loved, and we had a life that didn’t feel like something I had to build from rubble.
But this little life… this tiny flicker of possibility… isn’t the problem.
It’s the timing, the heartbreak, everything I haven’t healed...all the things left to be said.
I close my eyes, press both hands to my stomach, and calm my breathing.
“I’m not mad at you,” I whisper.
My voice breaks in the middle.
“I’m just… scared.And I wish your beginning didn’t have to look like this.”
The tears slow but don't stop.
