I sink onto the closed toilet lid and stare at the test in my hand.
I’m pregnant with Cassian’s baby.
I had sex with him six weeks ago. Twice. We didn’t use protection because I didn’t insist—because it felt good, and I wanted it, and I wasn’t thinking about consequences. And now there’s a baby.
His baby.
“Aurelia?” Helena knocks on the door. I don’t know how long I’ve sat here.
I open the door, still holding the test. Helena looks at my face, then at the test in my hand, and her expression shifts into something sad and resigned.
“Positive,” I say, even though she can see it.
“I’m sorry.” She sounds like she means it, which somehow makes this worse. “Who’s the father?” she asks gently.
I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does.”
“No.”
“Aurelia, your uncle is going to ask. When I tell him you’re pregnant, he’s going to demand to know who the father is. You can tell me now, or you can tell him later, but either way, he’s going to find out.”
“Then let him ask.”
Helena’s mouth tightens. “I have to call him.”
“Don’t.”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“Please.”
“I’m sorry.” She leaves the bathroom, and I hear her footsteps crossing the main room. Hear her pick up the phone. Hear her voice, low and careful, speaking to someone on the other end.
I walk out and stand in the doorway, watching her.
“Yes, she’s here,” Helena says into the phone. “Yes, I’m sure. The test was positive.” A pause. “I asked. She won’t say.” Another pause. “Tomorrow? Yes, I’ll make sure she’s here.” She hangs up and turns to look at me. “He’s coming tomorrow.”
“Of course he is.”
“He wants to know who the father is.”
“I’m not telling him.”
“You will,” Helena says. Not unkindly. Just factual. “Victor doesn’t ask questions he doesn’t get answers to.”
She’s right. I know she’s right. But I hold on to the refusal anyway, because it’s the only thing I have left.
The rest of the day passes in a blur.
Helena brings me food I don’t eat. She tries to make conversation I don’t respond to. Eventually, she gives up and leaves me alone in my room. I lie on the bed and stare at the ceiling.
My hand drifts to my stomach without permission. It’s still flat. No sign that anything has changed. But there’s something there now. A cluster of cells dividing and growing and becoming a person.
Cassian’s person.
I think about him constantly. The way he looked at me on the plane. The way he touched me in his hotel room. The way his voice sounded when he told me to stay with him.
