I don't pick it up. I look at it.
"It’s time," he says.
I open it. Inside is a small rectangular box. I recognize the brand before I read the label.
"Take it," he says.
"I know what it is."
"Then take it."
I look at him. He's backlit by the window and the gray morning light catches the edge of his jaw, the straight line of his nose.
"And if it's positive?"
"Then we deal with it."
"We." I turn the box over in my hands. "There is no we. There's you, deciding things. And there's me, living with the consequences."
He doesn't react. "Take the test, Theo."
I stand up. My back protests and the nausea rolls again, low and heavy. I walk to the bathroom with the box in my hand and I close the door and I lock it, which is pointless because he could break it down with one shoulder.
The test takes three minutes. I sit on the edge of the bath and wait until the timer on my phone goes off. I look.
Positive.
I knew. I already knew. But the word on the little screen is a different thing to the knowledge I've been carrying for weeks. The word makes it real.
I sit on the edge of the bath and put my head in my hands. The tile is cold under my feet. The bathroom still smells like his shower, steam and cedar, and my stomach turns.
I don't cry. I've never been a crier. I wash my face. I drink water from the tap. I brush my teeth. I look at myself in the mirror. Same face. Same dark eyes. Same sharp jaw that I got from my mother.
She was pregnant too. She stayed too. It was the biggest mistake of her life.
I open the door.
Dom is exactly where I left him, sitting on the arm of the sofa, one bare foot on the hardwood, his hands resting on his thighs. He looks up when I come out.
I hold up the test. He can see the result from where he's sitting. His eyes soften and the hard line of his mouth eases.
"Good," he says.
I put the test on the kitchen counter. I lean against the counter and cross my arms over my chest.
"Not good," I say.
"Of course, it is. A baby is always a blessing and you're safe here. I'll make sure you have everything you need."
"I have everything I need. Apart from the ability to leave."
He straightens. "Theo."
"I was already a prisoner. Now I'm a pregnant prisoner. That's what's changed."
"Nothing has changed. You stay, I protect you, the baby is safe.” He stands up from the sofa. He's taller than me by several inches and the penthouse isn't big enough. He takes a step toward me and I hold my ground but my heart rate spikes and I can feel my scent shift. "I'm not going to hurt you," he says. "And I'm not going to hurt the baby."
"That's what they all say."
