Once I’m done, I take a deep shuddering breath and pick up the test. “Here goes nothing,” I say to myself and head to the bathroom.
The test takes three minutes. I watch the timer on my phone count down with agonizing slowness, my entire body tense with anticipation and dread.
When the second line appears—faint but unmistakable—the world seems to stop spinning.
Positive.
I’m pregnant.
I sink onto the edge of the bathtub, the test clutched in my shaking hand, and a sob tears out of my throat before I can stop it.
A baby. There’s ababygrowing inside me. Luca’s baby. A tiny person who will be part of both of us, who will carry our DNA and our hopes and our fears into a future I can barely imagine.
Terror and joy war in my chest, each emotion so intense I can barely breathe through it.
Terror because, God, terror because a baby changes everything. It makes escape truly impossible if I ever needed it. It gives Luca the ultimate leverage over me for the rest of my life. It binds me to this world of violence and crime in ways I can never fully extricate myself from.
A thought crosses my mind that makes my stomach lurch unpleasantly and I press a hand to my stomach, choking back bile. What if he doesn’t want it? What if he sees this pregnancy as a complication instead of a gift? What if the man I’ve fallen for decides that an heir is more trouble than it’s worth, or worse decides to use our child to ensure my complete compliance?
I could be sick at the thought.
But underneath the terror is something else. Something that feels suspiciously like hope.
Because a baby would also be mine. Completely, irrevocably mine in ways nothing else has been since Luca destroyed my clinic. A love that could never be taken away from me, a future I could build even now.
And maybe…maybe this could be the thing that finally makes everything real between us. That proves that there truly is love between us.
Maybe a child could be what saves us both.
The hope is fragile, but it’s intense. I clutch the positive test and let myself imagine it for just a moment. Luca’s hand on my growing belly, his face softening with wonder as he feels the baby move. Luca teaching our child to be better than both of us, to take the best parts of our natures and leave the worst behind.
Creating good from the wreckage of how we started.
Is it possible? Could we actually do that?
I don’t know. But sitting here in this bathroom with tears streaming down my face and a positive pregnancy test in my hand, I desperately want to believe it could be.
The question is whether Luca will want it too.
I think about how he’s been with me lately—the gentleness, the tenderness, the way he holds me. The promises about the clinic and my future. The way he finally told me my father is recovering, that I’ll get to see him soon.
He’s trying. Really trying to be better than the monster who first took me.
But is that enough? Is trying enough to guarantee he’ll see this pregnancy as a blessing instead of a burden?
I don’t have answers. Just fear and hope tangled so tightly I can’t separate them.
Taking a deep breath, I tuck the test into the front pocket of my jeans and arrange for my sweatshirt to cover it. I then wash my face, trying to erase the evidence of tears, and try to figure out what the hell I’m going to do.
First, I need to hide this test. The perfect spot comes to mind. My jewelry box. I can tuck it under necklaces and bracelets where no one will accidentally find it. Luca never goes in there as he trusts me to pick out pieces myself.
With that, I quietly open the doors and peek my head around to make sure no one’s coming. It would be weird to see me in my old rooms, and I don’t actually have a convincing explanation as to why I would be here. Seeing no one, I scurry away and make itto mine and Luca’s room in record time. I breathe a sigh of relief once I shut the doors and hurry to the jewelry box.
Lifting the test up, I stare at it again, seeing the second pink line. For a brief moment, I cradle the test, imagining it to be my baby. I close my eyes and imagine the softness of an infant, the sweet baby smell of their shampoo and their soft coos.
But then I remember where I am and that I have a pregnancy test in my hands, and I quickly arrange the test in the jewelry box so it’s not visible. Snapping the lid shut, I back away like it’s a brand and take a deep breath, steadying myself.
I need to tell him. Obviously, I need to tell him. This isn’t something I can hide for long. Even if I could, I don’t want to. Despite all the fear and uncertainty, some part of me wants to share this with him. I want to see his reaction, to find out once and for all if the man I love is capable of loving me back.
