Positive.
My breath leaves my body in one sharp exhale.
No.
No, no, no.
I stare harder, like I can argue it into changing.
It doesn’t.
My hand flies to my mouth.
Tears hit fast, hot and humiliating, blurring my vision.
“Oh my God,” I whisper.
My knees go weak.
I sit down on the edge of the bathtub because I don’t trust myself to stay upright.
Bear pushes into the bathroom then, whining softly, his paws clicking on the tile. He nudges my knee with his nose.
I let out a broken sound that’s half sob, half laugh.
“Bear,” I whisper, and my voice cracks on his name. “What am I going to do?”
He licks my hand like that solves everything.
I cry harder.
Because we were finally getting it right.
Jake and me. We were building something.
And now this.
A baby.
The one thing he said there was no room for in his life.
My chest tightens painfully.
He never wants children.
And I know from the way he said it that he meant it.
How could he not resent me now?
How could he not look at me and see this as a trap?
The fear comes sharp and fast, digging into me.
What if he thinks I planned it?
What if he thinks I skipped pills on purpose?
What if he thinks I got pregnant to trap him and take his money?
