LUCY
I’ve been sleeping too much lately. More than I want to admit. Dragging myself out of bed to open the café feels like wading through wet cement, my body heavy, sluggish, refusing to cooperate. I keep blaming stress—there’s definitely been enough of it to go around—but a little voice in the back of my mind whispers otherwise. Something’s off. Maybe it’s tied to what I already know lurks in my file at the doctor’s office.
It’s been days now, and Aidan still hasn’t called Emily. I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t be in a rush to call her, either. Not after the way she just dropped back into his life. Honestly, she doesn’t deserve for him to be in a rush. Not after leaving Isla, not after everything he’s had to carry on his own.
He’s been especially quiet today. His jaw set, his eyes distant as if he’s been waging a war in his mind over what to do. I sit cross-legged on the couch, a mug of tea in my hands, trying to look like I’m focused on anything other than him. The weight of his decision is pressing down on both of us.
“I’m gonna call Emily.” He exhales slowly, his fingers skimming down my arm beforehe pulls away.
He doesn’t wait for me to respond. Just heads for the kitchen, shoulders drawn tight, head bent as he lifts the phone to his ear.
The moment he’s out of sight, I press a hand against my stomach. That familiar ripple of nausea stirs low. It’s subtle at first, but it builds, that uneasy churning that’s become my constant companion these past few days.
It’s definitely the stress. That would make sense, right? Things have beena lotlately. And I haven’t been eating nearly enough. My appetite’s been all over the place.
I wonder if…
No. I slam the door on the thought before it can finish forming, squeezing my eyes shut to erase it. But my heart’s already racing and my mind is spinning out with possibilities I don’t dare give shape to.
My body’s just out of sorts because life’s been one long storm lately. That’s all it is. That’s all it can be.
As the nausea twists in my stomach, my hand lingers there, almost on instinct. It’s become a habit these past few days, like my body is trying to tell me something my mind refuses to accept. That thought—it’s ridiculous. Impossible, even.
I can’t be pregnant.
I press my lips together, swallowing the lump in my throat as my heart pounds faster. This is absurd. I’ve been on birth control. It should be, quite literally, impossible.
I close my eyes, taking a shaky breath as I fight a surge of emotions. Fear. Hope. Disbelief. It’s all there now, a seed planted deep in my mind, and I know it’s not going away.
Aidan’s voice drifts in from the kitchen. I don’t mean to eavesdrop, but his words cut through the silence, sharp and clipped. He sounds so…angry. Protective.
I strain to hear more. His voice rises slightly, the words becoming clearer.
“No, Emily. You don’t get to just stroll back in like nothing happened.”
There’s a pause, and I can almost picture him running a hand through his hair, frustration etched on his face.
“I’m not keeping her from you. But we do this on my terms, is that clear?”
Another pause, longer this time. When he speaks again, his voice is tinged with a weariness that makes my heart ache.
“We can meet up.” Another pause. “No, not with Isla. Not until we talk.”
I purposely tune him out now. This is harder to listen to than I thought it would be. Isla feels like…mine. And I know she’s not, but it would be impossible not to feel that way after I’ve spent months with her, watching her grow, loving her in a way I never thought I’d be able to.
She has no idea how she’s saved me from the heartache that usually hits me when it comes to kids. The pain ofneverhaving what so many people take for granted, the ache of imagining what could’ve been. But Isla, with her little laugh and her curious eyes, has filled a space in my heart that was so empty. Even though it’s complicated—so complicated—I can’t help but feel protective of her, too.
I don’t say anything as he walks back to me, though his expression softens the moment our eyes meet. He sits beside me again, pulling me close as if trying to recapture the calm we had before.
“Everything okay?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.
“Aye, as okay as it can be. I asked her to meet me at your café tomorrow. I hope that’s okay.”
I nod, pressing my cheek against his shoulder. “Of course it’s okay.”
And it is okay, in the way that I’ll always support him, no matter what. At the same time, a small part of me is uneasy. I don’t know if I want to see her again.
Though if she’s here to stay, I might need to get used to it. I’m not ready for that, but I also don’t have a choice.
