“Eat,” he says again, quieter.
I laugh weakly. “I knew you couldn’t help yourself.”
I take another bite.
The plastic stick in my pocket feels like a lead weight.
My hand twitches like I’m going to reach for it.
I don’t.
I look up at Nico instead, because if I’m going to do this, I have to do it while he’s looking at me. While I’m not hiding.
“Nico,” I say.
He stills.
“Yeah,” he answers immediately.
My heart bangs once.
Twice.
The words stack up behind my teeth.
I’m pregnant. I’m scared.
I don’t know what you’ll do. I don’t know what I’ll do.
But I don’t say any of it. Because my mouth is dry and my hands are cold, and I can hear my own pulse.
So I grab the only safe piece of truth I can hold without breaking.
“I need to go back to the hospital,” I say.
Nico nods once.
“Okay,” he replies.
Then, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world:
“We’ll go.”
I blink.
“We?” I repeat.
His eyes don’t move.
“We,” he says again.
My throat tightens.
“You don’t have to—” I start.
He cuts it off with a look that isn’t harsh, but it is final.
“You’re not doing this alone,” he says.
