Exhaustion? Working too hard.
Missed period? Hormonal imbalance from poor nutrition.
But I couldn't lie to myself anymore.
Every symptom pointed to the same terrifying possibility—one I'd been too afraid to even consider.
I took one more look at my haggard reflection, then pushed open the bathroom door.
My coworkers pretended to be busy, but I could feel their stares like needles in my back.
My desk had already been cleared out—obviously my supervisor had been planning this. A cardboard box sat on my chair containing my few personal belongings: a coffee mug, some pens, and that old camera.
I picked up the pathetically light box. Five months as a journalist, and this was all I had toshow for it.
"Anna..." one of my female colleagues whispered, genuine sympathy in her voice. "Take care of yourself."
I nodded silently.
Not because I didn't want to speak—I was afraid that if I opened my mouth, I'd break down completely.
Carrying my cardboard box out of the building, I squinted against the harsh sunlight. The whole world seemed to be spinning.
People rushed past on the sidewalk, everyone focused on their own lives, no one noticing the young woman with a box who'd just lost everything.
I stood there not knowing where to go.
Back to my apartment? To do what—sit in that moldy room staring at an empty refrigerator?
My feet started moving on their own, carrying me toward the nearest pharmacy.
The store was brightly lit, shelves lined with medications and health products. I found myself in the women's health section, staring at the pregnancy tests.
Expensive ones, cheap ones, pink packages, blue packages.
I grabbed the cheapest option and walked to the checkout counter.
The cashier was a middle-aged woman who glanced at the test, then at me, sympathy flickering in her eyes.
"Do you need a bag?" she asked gently.
I nodded.
She slipped the test into an opaque bag and handed it to me with a soft "Good luck."
I took the bag and hurried out.
Good luck? I almost laughed. If I had any luck, I wouldn't be here.
Back in my apartment, I dropped the cardboard box and went straight to the bathroom.
The cracked toilet, yellowing tiles, and that faucet that never stopped dripping.
I sat down and unwrapped the test, following the instructions with trembling hands.
Then I stared at the little plastic stick.
Five minutes for results. One line meant negative, two lines positive.
