I do none of it. I just stare into the middle distance and try not to imagine a plus sign.
The timer goes off.
A single, traitorous beep that snaps the world into sharp focus.
I freeze.
And then—very slowly—I stand.
My legs are heavy. Not with dread, exactly. Just with… everything. The weight of the unknown. The impossible.
Back in the bathroom, the test sits exactly where I left it, looking utterly unbothered. I reach for it like I’m defusing a bomb.
My breath catches.
I look.
One heartbeat. Then another.
And then the world tilts.
Because there it is.
Two lines.
Clear as ink.
Positive.
I sit down on the edge of the tub, the test still clutched in my hand.
I blink at those two lines like they might change if I just stare hard enough. As if this is one of those surreal dreams that dissolves with daylight. But the tile beneath my feet is real and cold. The test is real. The little pink lines are very real.
I’m pregnant.
Pregnant.
The word echoes through me like a dropped pin in a cathedral. Too big. Too final.
What will Max say?
The question blooms immediately, followed by an avalanche of others I don’t feel equipped to answer. Will he be shocked? Scared? Excited?
How will I take care of a baby? Am I ready to be a mother?
I rest a hand on my stomach. It’s still flat. Still quiet. But now it feels like a secret I’m carrying under my skin. A secret that will change everything.
I strip off my clothes slowly. Methodically. My fingers feel numb, but my body moves like it remembers how to function on autopilot.
The water takes a moment to heat. I step into it before it does, letting the chill snap me back into my skin. Then the warmth comes—too hot at first, but I don’t flinch. I want it to burn away the panic, the disbelief, the ache behind my ribs.
I close my eyes and let it pour over me.
For minutes—maybe hours—I do nothing but breathe. Long inhales, longer exhales. I let the sound of the water fill my ears, wash over the noise in my head. It’s the only thing that drowns out the fear.
I think about Max. His voice, his laugh, the way he looks at me like he’s still trying to figure out how we happened. I think about thatnight in the stacks when it felt like we were the only two people left in the world.
When I finally shut off the water, my skin is flushed and wrinkled, and my limbs feel a little steadier.
