He wraps his arms around me, his head lowering to mine, cheek brushing my temple.
‘Taking too long to answer, Baby Girl,’ he murmurs, his eyes locking onto mine through the mirror.
Pregnant.
That’s what I want to say.
But I don’t.
Not yet.
Not until I know for sure.
It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve read too much into a flutter, a twinge, a symptom. I’ve been here before – six times already – gripping sticks, praying for a line that never appears.
I’ve seen more ‘signs’ this month too: the strange twist low in my stomach, running to the loo, feeling tired, boobs so tender it’s laughable… except Ax loves them so much, it’s hardly a reliable indicator.
And I know most symptoms come much later down the road.
But…
I’m two days late.
And I haven’t tested.
Don’t ask me why, when every month before, I tore through packets of early tests hoping one might finally deliver.
Maybe I didn’t want to face the ‘Negative’.
Not this time of year, when it’s all about joy and hope and so much festive positivity, you either love it or loathe it. And I want to stay firmly in the loved-up camp.
But knowing Sadie’s pregnant, seeing how she glows, imagining us both this time next year…
It feels bigger than hormones.
It feels like… fate.
And I’ve never believed in fate.
But then, I never believed in the fairy-tale ending of happy ever after either.
Not for me.
So, ‘Happy,’ I say instead.
He gives me that grin he’s been wearing more and more, and the butterflies take off inside.
‘About Sadie?’
‘About everything,’ I say. ‘It feels like it’s all slipping into place…’
He smooths his hand down my front, igniting every nerve in his wake.
‘Just need the final piece, hey?’ he says against my ear, fingers splaying across my stomach.
‘Yeah,’ I breathe, treasuring his touch, treasuring the hope blooming inside.
‘Anything you want to tell me, Baby Girl?’
