No. A gross bathroom somewhere between Dark River andSeattle, with sticky floors and graffiti on the walls and a board meeting I’m supposed to be at in two hours. Fucking great. I lock the stall door behind me and stare at the pregnancy tests in my shaking hands.
I take both tests, following the instructions carefully even though my hands won’t stop trembling, and then I set them face-down on the little metal shelf meant for toilet paper and pull out my phone to start a timer.
I try to think about anything else while I wait. The board meeting. What I’m going to say to Sloane. Whether Erica will even listen to me or if she’s already made up her mind. The traffic I still have to get through. Literally anything except the two plastic sticks sitting three feet away from me, quietly determining my future.
The timer goes off, shrill and startling in the small space, and my heart slams against my ribs. I pick up both tests and look. Two clear lines on each, unmistakable.
Positive.
I’m pregnant. I’m pregnant with Theo’s baby. For a long moment I just stand there, frozen, staring at those two little lines. My brain feels like it’s short-circuiting, trying to process information it wasn’t prepared to receive, emotions crashing into each other so fast I can barely separate them.
Shock. Complete and total shock, the kind that makes the world go slightly fuzzy at the edges and my knees feel like they might give out. I lower myself onto the closed toilet seat because standing seems suddenly impossible, and I keep staring at the tests in my hands like they belong to someone else.
But underneath the shock, rising up through it like sunlight through water, is something I didn’t expect. Joy. Pure, overwhelming, terrifying joy.
I’ve always loved kids. It’s why I became a teacher, and why spending time with Chloe has been one of the best parts of my relationship with Theo. My whole life, for as long as I canremember, I’ve wanted a family of my own. The dream was always to teach and also have children.
And now I’m pregnant. With Theo’s baby. The man I’m completely, desperately, hopelessly in love with, even though I’ve spent the past weeks trying to convince myself that walking away was the right thing to do.
My hand moves to my stomach without conscious thought, pressing against the flat plane of my abdomen where something impossible and miraculous is apparently happening. There’s nothing to feel yet, I know that, but I press my palm there anyway, and the tears start falling before I can stop them.
Happy tears. I want this baby so much it physically hurts, want this future so much I can barely breathe around it. A child with Theo’s brown eyes and maybe my red hair, growing up alongside Chloe, part of a family I’ve been dreaming about since before I even knew his name. But the timing is a disaster.
The tears come harder now, and I’m not sure anymore if they’re happy or devastated or some impossible mixture of both. I cry into my hands, overwhelmed by everything I’m feeling, everything I’ve done, everything I don’t know how to fix.
I force myself to stand. The board meeting is in less than two hours. Sophie’s counting on me. I came all this way to fight for my parents’ company, to try to undo some of the damage that’s been done, to stand up for something instead of running away from it. I’ll figure out what to say to Theo after.
One crisis at a time.
The ride to the executive floor takes forever, the numbers ticking upward with agonizing slowness while generic corporate music plays softly overhead, and when the doors finally open, nothing looks familiar even though I spent years walking these halls.
The board meeting is in the main conference room, the onewith floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Elliott Bay. I walk through the glass doors and all conversation stops like someone hit pause on a movie.
Sloane sits at the head of the table, of course, because Sloane always takes the head of the table and has since we were kids playing board games in the living room. Her navy power suit is immaculate, and her hair is blown out in that perfect professional wave.
Erica and Morgan flank her on either side, the twins presenting their usual united front, their expressions carefully neutral in that way I remember from every family argument we’ve ever had. They look tired and uncomfortable though, shifting slightly in their seats. They’ve always hated conflict, and it’s part of why they’ve gone along with Sloane for so long. Avoiding her wrath is much easier than facing it.
Sophie sits alone on the opposite side of the table, and relief floods her face when she sees me.
“This is a surprise,” Sloane says, her eyebrows rising. “I didn’t think you’d actually show up.”
“Well, I’m here,” I say simply, crossing the room and taking the seat next to Sophie with as much confidence as I can muster while my stomach churns with morning sickness and my bag contains two positive pregnancy tests wrapped in paper towels. Sophie squeezes my hand under the table, quick and grateful, and I squeeze back.
“Then let’s get to it,” Sloane says, opening her leather portfolio. “Today’s vote on the platform overhaul. We’ve been discussing this for months, and it’s time to make a final decision. The proposal is to complete the transition we started last year: fully replace the remaining educational content with engagement-optimized programming, implement the new algorithm changes across all age groups, and expand into the two-to-four demographic with our new toddler suite.”
My stomach turns, and it has nothing to do with morning sickness. We grew up in the same house, were raised by thesame parents, and learned the same values. How did we get here?
“For the record,” Sophie says, “I’m still opposed. The new content has zero educational value. We’d be completing the transformation from a learning platform into a digital slot machine designed to addict children and sell toys and cereal. That’s not what Mom and Dad built this company to do.”
“Mom and Dad aren’t here anymore,” Sloane says flatly. “The engagement-focused changes we’ve already made have increased our revenue by forty percent. This vote completes what we started.”
“At what cost?” Sophie presses. “We’ve seen the internal research. Kids aren’t learning anything from the new content. We’re deliberately creating addiction in children and calling it a business strategy.”
Erica flinches almost imperceptibly at Sophie’s words, and Morgan’s jaw tightens. They know she’s right. And they’ve voted with Sloane anyway, every single time, because standing up to our oldest sister has always felt impossible.
“We’re staying competitive in an oversaturated market,” Sloane counters, her voice smooth. “Every minute a child spends on KidStream is a minute they’re not spending on TikTok or YouTube. If we don’t capture their attention, someone else will.”
“So we should be the ones hurting them instead of letting someone else do it?” The words come out of my mouth before I can stop them, and suddenly everyone is looking at me. “That’s the argument?”
