I sink onto the bed, dizzy with it. This could be all I have left. I’d never see him again, but I’d recognize his features in our child. A boy. A mini-Lex with steel-gray eyes, dark hair, and a brilliant mind. A tiny genius who takes after his incredible father.
As manipulative as it is, I can’t help wondering if it would change things. If Lex would soften. If he’d let me visit, even just to watch his child grow. But is that fair?
What kind of life would that be for the child? For Lex only getting a couple of hours at a time? For me, dragging a kid through prison visits and whispered judgments? Week after week, year after year…
Reason tells me I can’t be pregnant. It would be wrong. So deeply wrong.
And still, my heart aches for it. To have Lex’s baby, now, when everything else threatens our love. It’s so selfish and cruel, but I can’t help it. If this is my only shot at having Lex’s child, I’ll take it.
Two quick knocks on my door have me jumping to my feet. “Yes?” I anxiously call out. The door opens, revealing MC. She quickly slips in and closes it behind her. “Did you get it?” I ask, rushing her.
“Yes, I got two brands, just in case.” She opens the brown paper bag, showing me the boxes of pregnancy tests.
“Do they know? Do my parents know?”
“No, I think they bought my excuse. But your mom wasn’t happy that I drove. I need to go help her with the albondigas before she gets suspicious. Unless you want me to be here with you.”
Although I could use her support, it’s imperative that my parents don’t realize what’s happening. I have too many cans of worms opened at the moment. I’m not adding that one to my list.
“No, thank you,Abuelita. I—I’ll let you know when I have the results,” I stammer.
As if she knows how much I need a hug, she puts the bag down on my dresser and wraps her frail arms around me to give me a tight, compassionate embrace. “Everything will be fine,mija,” she promises in Spanish.
“Thank you,” I answer, my throat tight with emotion.
I can’t be pregnant. But I long to be. My brain and my heart are fighting each other in a fierce battle that can only lead to disappointment.
“Can you—can you come check on me if I don’t come downstairs?” I sheepishly ask.
“Of course,mijita.”
MC gives me a long kiss on the cheek and lets go to exit my room as swiftly as she entered.
I stare at the paper bag, lacking the courage to pick it up and head to the bathroom. This state of agonizing uncertainty is unbearable, but I’m terrified to find out. There’s no winning here, only loss. The loss of my principles, of decency and good sense, or the loss of our hopes for a family, of the future Lex and I once spoke of.
With a heavy sigh, I pick up the bag and walk to the bathroom. As I open the boxes, I’m thrown back to the three other instances I’ve had to do it. This time, it’s different. I want two bars to appear, even though part of me wants only one. I crave both outcomes with equal desperation.
I force myself to stop overthinking, sit on the toilet, and pee on both sticks. I cap them, set them on the closed lid, flush, then slide down to the floor with my back against the tub. I count to one hundred and eighty—the required three minutes—and then keep counting.
This is a Schrödinger’s cat sort of situation. As long as I don’t look, everything is possible. I’m both pregnant and not. Our future exists, and it doesn’t. But once I look, I’ll have to grieve something.
When I reach eight hundred seconds, I know I can’t delay anymore.
I owe it to Lex.
I lean over to the toilet to grab the tests. Not looking at them, I hold them in my clenched fist, closing my eyes to gather some strength.
I’d give anything to have Lex by my side, telling me everything will be fine. I want to know he’s okay with whatever is on there, positive or negative. I want him to tell me we have time for this step of our journey, that we’ll raise this child together, that we’ll work on making another one…
But he isn’t here. He might never be here again, sitting on a bathroom floor with me, comforting me with his soothing presence.
God, how I want to have his baby… But not like this.
Summoning a fragile burst of courage, I open my hand and look. The answer is the same on both tests, clear and undeniable. One of the two outcomes I’ve been both dreading and hoping for.
Conflicted tears spill down my cheeks, grief and relief crashing together. It hurts to know, but I had to. For my sanity.
I didn’t think there were any tears left in me. But God, do I cry. For what could have been and what might never be. Through the haze of despair, a fragile hope still flickers. Lex could win the trial. He could get out. We could still build the family we wanted.
