She stares at me.
I stare back.
We both look down at my stomach at the same time, as if something might already be visibly different.
“That’s…” I start, then stop. “That’s not possible.”
“Biologically, it is very possible,” Devin says dryly.
“I’m on birth control.”
“You also live with a man who looks at you like you’re dessert.”
“That’s not science, Devin.”
“It kind of is. Go ahead, I dare you to ask while we’re here; there’s still that point-zero-one percent chance, babe.”
I press my palms to my face. My thoughts scatter, crash into each other, splinter.Pregnant.The word feels too big and heavy to fit inside my head.
A nurse appears and calls my name.
The next forty minutes pass in a blur of forms, blood pressure cuffs, and a small exam room with crinkly paper on the table. Devin stays glued to my side, cracking jokes under her breath about hospital gowns and threatening to steal one of the little tongue depressors as a souvenir. I cling to her voice like a life vest.
Then Dr. Shonan walks in.
She’s in her early forties, calm and composed, with kind eyes and a practiced smile that somehow doesn’t feel fake. She explains everything gently, asks questions, and orders a quick test.
I sit there, and my heart feels like it’s trying to escape from my chest.
When she returns, she closes the door behind her and gives me a look that’s both professional and warm. “Well,” she says softly, “congratulations.”
The word echoes.
Congratulations.
She must be able to see the shock on my face, because she says gently: “You’re pregnant, Alyona. Very early, but definitely pregnant.”
For a second, the room tilts.
There’s something inside me.
Something his.
Somethingours.
Devin grabs my hand so tightly that it almost hurts. “Holy shit,” she says, then laughs. “Oh my God, holy shit.”
I feel like I might cry. Or faint. Or both.
“I don’t know if that’s something to celebrate,” I whisper.
Dr. Shonan smiles gently. “That part is up to you.”
Later, back in the waiting room, Devin hugs me so hard my ribs protest.
“I’m freaking out,” I admit. “What if he doesn’t want this? What if he thinks it’s a liability or dangerous or—what if he wants me to get rid of it?”
She pulls back and stares at me like I’ve grown a second head.
