It’s been doing this for weeks now. At first, I thought it was stress from the custody battle. Then I thought it was fear from Steven’s threats. But the court case is over. Steven is in jail and the three of us are safe.
And my stomach is still upset every morning.
“Mom? Are you okay?” April’s voice cuts through my thoughts.
“I’m fine, sweetheart.” I force a smile. “Just need to use the bathroom. You two keep eating.”
I push back from the table and head upstairs, my heart pounding harder with each step.
The pregnancy test is hidden in the back of the bathroom cabinet, tucked behind bottles of pain reliever and allergy medicine. I bought it three days ago after Steven’s arrest, after the relief finally hit and the nausea didn’t go away.
I couldn’t be pregnant. I’ve been on the pill. Besides that, Grant and I have been careful. Mostly. Except for that morning before the court hearing when we were both too desperate and needy to think about anything except each other. And a few other times when we got carried away.
My hands shake as I open the box and read the instructions. It’s simple enough—pee on the stick, wait three minutes, and two lines mean pregnant. One line means not pregnant.
I take the test and set it on the counter, then immediately turn away. I can’t watch it develop. I can’t sit here and stare at it for three minutes while my entire future hangs in the balance.
Instead, I pace the small bathroom. Back and forth, back and forth. My mind races with possibilities.
Grant and I haven’t talked about more kids. We haven’t even really talked about what wearebeyond dating. I have no idea whether he’ll want this or feel trapped or overwhelmed.
April has been an only child her whole life. I don’t think she’ll be jealous or upset about the prospect of having a sibling, but I just don’t know for sure.
And me. I honestly don’t know if I’m ready for another baby. I barely survived April’s first few years on my own. I don’t know what I’ll do if something happens between Grant and me.
The timer on my phone goes off. It’s been three minutes. Now it’s the moment of truth.
I turn toward the counter with my heart in my throat. The test is sitting there, completely unremarkable and possibly life-changing at the same time.
I pick it up with shaking hands.
The two lines are clear and unmistakable.
I’m pregnant.
My breath catches, and my knees go weak. I sit down hard on the closed toilet lid, still staring at the test.
I’m pregnant. I’m going to have Grant’s baby.
A thousand emotions crash through me at once—fear, joy, panic, wonder, excitement, and terror are just the first few I can name. But underneath it all, beneath the shock and uncertainty, there’s something else.
Hope.
I press my hand against my still-flat stomach and let myself imagine it. A baby. Grant’s baby. A little brother or sister for April. A family, a real family.
I take several deep breaths, trying to calm my racing heart. I need to tell Grant soon, but not right now. Not while April is downstairs and I’m still processing this myself.
I tuck the test back into the box and hide it in the cabinet again. Then I wash my hands, splash cold water on my face, and check my reflection in the mirror.
I still look the same, of course, but everything is different.
I head back downstairs and school my expression into something calm and normal.
Grant looks up as I enter the kitchen. “Is everything good? You look a little pale.”
“Yeah.” My voice sounds surprisingly even, despite the way my pulse is racing. “I’m good.”
April has finished her pancakes and is now drawing on a napkin with a purple marker. Grant is watching her with that soft expression he gets when she’s absorbed in something creative.
