I keep going, because if I stop, I’ll spiral.
“And you know how we haven’t really been…careful.”
His eyes widen a fraction.
There it is—the click, the way he catches up.
My fingers twist together. “I’m late.”
Logan’s mouth opens, then closes again like he’s trying to find the right sentence, and they all feel too big.
“Okay,” he says, quietly. Calm on purpose. “Okay. How late?”
“Four days,” I admit. “Maybe five.”
He nods once, like he’s anchoring himself to a number. “Do you feel…different?”
I blink. “I don’t know. I’m tired, but I’m always tired. And I cried at a dog food commercial yesterday, but I also cry at commercials when I’m?—”
“Alive,” he finishes for me, and the corner of his mouth lifts.
That makes me breathe, just a little.
“I bought a test,” I say. “It’s in the bathroom.”
His gaze flickers down the hall. Then back to me. “Do you want to take it now?”
My laugh comes out thin. “This wasn’t exactly the plan.”
Logan steps closer, slow and careful, like sudden movement might spook me.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “But we weren’t exactly stopping it either.”
My throat tightens.
He searches my face. “Hey. Whatever it is, we’re okay.”
“You don’t know that,” I whisper.
His eyes don’t waver. “I do.”
I nod once because I can’t talk around the lump in my throat.
His hand finds mine like it’s a reflex. Fingers threading through mine, warm and sure. He gives a small squeeze—steady, not desperate.
Just…here.
We walk down the short hallway together, our steps loud in the quiet apartment. The city hums outside the windows. A siren far away. Tires on wet pavement.
Life going on.
Logan pauses at the bathroom door and glances at me. “Do you want me in here?”
My throat burns. “Yes.”
His expression softens, and he follows me in.
I reach for the drawer with shaking hands. The box is right where I hid it, like my body knew I’d come back even if my brain tried to pretend it wasn’t real.
