The right decision didn’t stop hurting. I hadn’t expected it to, but I’d thought it might be manageable after a while, the way my grief dulled. Instead, it lived in my chest with a persistent ache.
I missed Declan making coffee as soon as he arrived, how he moved through the space with the ease of knowing he belonged there.
I missed Ronan’s almost-smile and the way he fixed things without a word. I missed the way he leaned into me in the middle of the night.
I missed Finn climbing the fire escape because he knew it would make me laugh.
I missed the pub. I’d built something there and left it and I had no idea if that made me brave or an idiot.
The third week after coming home, the fog cleared enough for me to realize I’d missed my period. By a lot.
I’d been tired since I came home, but I’d attributed it to the fact I’d spent three months running a pub combined with a broken heart.
But I’d never missed a period. Not once.
The flutter of my too-fast pulse combined with the sudden nausea and I dropped onto the edge of the tub until it passed. I stood. Sat again. I had to know.
Thirty minutes later, after a two-block walk to the pharmacy and back, I peed on all three tests in the box and sat down to wait.
How did time become so slow? Every second felt like an hour. I stared at the tests, then decided I didn’t want to see it change and looked away, only to yank my head back again. The instructions said not to look too early, as the results could be faulty. I slid into the floor and pulled my knees up, burying my head in them to keep from peeking.
My phone dinged, and I leaped to my feet so fast I nearly fell into the toilet.
Two lines.
Pregnant.
It took a minute to sink in, and when it did, a half-sob, half-laugh broke loose. “Okay.” The sound of my voice struck me as funny all over again. Maybe I was having a nervous breakdown. Might need to call a doctor. Shit. I needed an OB.
I collapsed onto the side of the tub again, all three tests telling me the same thing. A baby. An actual baby, small and vulnerable and growing despite the complete disregard for the mess I’d made of my personal life.
Mom would have clapped and cheered. Nana Maeve would’ve poured me a drink, then drank it herself while saying pregnant women shouldn’t drink alcohol.
Get up, Bree. You have work to do.
I heard it in Mom’s voice, and it drove me to my feet. I stood and cleaned up the bathroom. I didn’t call anyone. Instead, I sat at the kitchen table, my search history in my laptop growing clogged with information on pregnancy, and drank a glass of water because water was healthy according to my first article I read.
Everything I read told me I still had options.
I didn’t need options. I wanted the baby. That honest truth lodged in my heart within ten minutes of the test. I’d always thought of children as a ‘someday’ sort of situation.
Someday had arrived. I wasn’t ready, but I for damned sure would be. Things did not make sense and had not lined up the way I thought my life would. Fine.
I’d make it work, even with all my practical problems staring me in the face.
How was I, a single woman living in a one-bedroom apartment in Boston, going to afford childcare, pregnancy, and everything else?
I could call them. They need to know.
My throat went so instantly dry I choked on the water, spewing it across the table as I hacked and gagged.
They had a right to know. One of them was the baby’s father, and the honest thing to do was call and tell them.
But then…they’d want me to come back to Clover Hill.
I was not going to put my child through what I’d endured in that place. I refused.
My breaths came short and fast, my heart racing to keep up. I pressed both palms on the table and forced my mind to think it through instead of letting my emotions do the work.
