Like I’m not a married woman who is getting divorced while fake-dating her husband and developing feelings for said husband… sneaking in to buy a pregnancy test.
Yes. My life has officially become a cliché.
My cheeks burn as I stare at the wall of boxes.
So many options.
Digital ones. Early detection ones. Fancy ones.
I grab the most basic one and drop it into my basket like I’m committing a crime.
At checkout, I avoid eye contact with the cashier.
I swear everyone in the store can tell.
She scans the box without even looking up.
Beep.
“That’ll be twelve ninety-nine.”
I pay, grab the bag, and practically flee the store.
Bear greets me like I’ve returned from war.
His tail starts wagging wildly the second he sees me push through the door.
“Okay, okay,” I say, crouching down to unclip his leash. “Let’s go home.”
He immediately shoves his nose into the plastic bag.
His ears perk.
I straighten fast, pulling it slightly out of reach.
“Mind your business,” I tell him, pointing a finger at his nose.
He sneezes.
Bear happily trots beside me as we head back toward the house, completely unaware that the small box swinging in my hand feels like it might change everything.
Back home, I head straight to the bathroom—my en-suite to the guest room that I haven’t used in weeks. It feels more private this way.
My hands are shaking a little as I open the box.
This is stupid.
This is just to make me feel better.
The instructions are annoyingly cheerful. Like the test is excited about this whole situation.
I glare at the little white stick. “You’re a little shit, that’s what you are.”
Great. Now I’m talking to a pregnancy test.
Bear sits in the doorway, watching me like he’s my emotional support animal.
“You’re not allowed in here,” I tell him.
