When it finally stopped, I leaned forward and pressed my forehead against the cool seat.
Sweat formed along my hairline.
On my neck.
On my upper lip.
My breathing came in shallow, uneven pants.
I stayed there for several seconds — trying to regain control.
Pregnancy symptoms.
The thought hit me like ice water dumped directly over my head.
My stomach twisted — not from nausea this time — but from realization.
I hadn’t had a period last month.
Or the month before that.
My cycle had never been perfectly regular — but it had never disappeared for this long.
My heart started pounding violently against my ribs.
Once. Twice.
Then it felt like it dropped straight into my stomach.
No.
No.
No.
The word repeated in my mind like denial could protect me.
I couldn’t be pregnant.
Not now.
Not after everything.
Not with him.
Not in the middle of war, betrayal, prison visits, and power struggles.
I reached into my pocket with shaky fingers and pulled out my phone.
I had to confirm.
I couldn’t spiral into assumptions.
I dialed Petros.
He answered on the first ring.
“Petros,” I said quickly, my voice hoarse from vomiting. “Can you get me pregnancy tests? I... I don’t think I can go to the store today.”
