“Have you been able to keep fluids down today?”she asks.
“Water,” I say.“And ...not much.”
Dr.Ruiz pulls a small cup and sealed test strip from her bag.“Okay.Bathroom.You can give me a urine sample.”
I slide off the stool, legs slightly shaky, and head back to the bathroom like I’m walking into my impending doom.
I disappear into the bathroom and close the door.
The urine sample feels like the most absurd thing in the world.Like my entire life is on fire and I’m standing here peeing into a cup in a luxury bathroom that doesn’t feel like it belongs to me.
I hand the sample to Dr.Ruiz like it’s a bomb, and surprise, surprise, Monty and Cally are staring through the glass doors like sad puppies.
Dr.Ruiz does her whole efficient, competent thing—gloves, strip, timer set like my life isn’t currently hanging off a piece of plastic.
Cally and Monty step in from the terrace like they’ve been waiting for permission to breathe near me again.The sliding door clicks shut behind them and the apartment feels smaller, like all that steel and glass were built for pretty views, and not for three people trying not to fall apart.
“Three minutes,” she says.
Three minutes.
It feels like nothing, an eternity.Three hours at least.
Cally plants his hands on his hips, posture rigid, eyes fixed on me like if he stares hard enough he can bully reality into behaving.He looks ready to buy a hospital and possibly the concept of time.
Monty crosses his arms, gaze angled past my shoulder like he’s forcing himself not to study my face too closely.Like looking at me too directly will make it harder to keep control.
I stare at the marble island.
I count the veins in it like they’re constellations that might tell me what happens next.Dr.Ruiz’s timer goes off.The passing of the seconds is excruciating, probably exhausting, and I can’t breathe as I wait.
The seconds crawl.
My ears catch everything: Cally’s breath going too fast when he thinks I’m not paying attention, the faint rub of Monty’s thumb against his own arm, the click of Dr.Ruiz’s pen, the hum of the refrigerator like it has no idea it’s hosting a crisis.
The timer beeps.It’s a tiny sound that should be harmless.
It isn’t.
Dr.Ruiz picks up the strip and looks at it.Her expression doesn’t shift much.It’s all professional.Contained.
Yet, my heart drops anyway.Anything that she says is going to be life changing.FromI think you have to go to the hospital because this might be seriousto ...Congratulations, the next eighteen years of your life are going to be a clusterfuck.Good luck.
“It’s positive,” she says.
My mind blanks like someone yanked the plug.
“Positive?”The word comes out thin, confused, like I don’t speak English anymore.
Cally makes a sound that might be a prayer or a curse.He’s at my side instantly—too fast, too close—his hand landing on my forearm like he’s afraid I’ll vanish.His fingers curl, warm and shaking just enough to tell the truth he’s trying to hide.
Monty doesn’t rush.He closes in with quiet certainty, sliding behind me, one arm wrapping around my middle like a seatbelt.His palm spreads over my stomach like his body has already decided it’s going to protect whatever is happening inside me, whether my brain agrees or not.
I hate how safe it feels.
I hate it because safety with them always comes with consequences.
Dr.Ruiz keeps talking, like she’s guiding us through a storm with a flashlight.“This doesn’t tell us exactly how far along you are.Based on what you told me, it could be roughly six to nine weeks.”
