Where are you?
Me:
Please call me.
Me:
Are you okay?
No response.
My pulse pounds in my ears.
I call again, but it goes straight to voicemail.
A feeling I haven’t experienced in years crawls up my spine.
Fear.
The kind that makes it feel like the floor has disappeared beneath you.
The kind that forces worst-case scenarios into your mind without permission.
I swallow hard.
Okay. Think.
I storm out of the bedroom and head down the hallway to check the guest room.
Maybe there’s some kind of clue there that will help me make sense of all this.
But the room sits quiet and empty.
Then my gaze catches on the small trash bin beside the vanity.
Something white near the top.
My brain doesn’t register it as important at first.
Until my body moves toward it.
I step closer.
The white thing is a thin plastic stick.
I stare at it.
It can’t be what I think it is… right?
I crouch and pick it up.
It’s a pregnancy test.
My hands go cold.
I turn it over. My eyes lock on the little window.
Two lines.
