My throat dries out in an instant. “And?” I ask, the word scraping on the way out.
“And the test wasn’t lying,” she says. “HCG’s elevated. You’re pregnant.”
It’s real. This is happening. My heart's racing, every fear rising up.What if Sterling doesn’t want a child? Could I do this alone? Can I do it all?“Okay,” I manage. “So not my body being dramatic for fun.”
“No,” she sighs. “Your body is being dramatic for a very valid reason.”
I force myself to breathe with the road. Sterling’s van holds steady ahead of me. Cam’s headlights stay where they’re supposed to be in the rearview. “Give me the short version,” I say. “Pretend I’m one of your normal patients.”
“You’re early. Your hormone levels are where I’d expect them to be—no immediate red flags on the panels. If you want to continue the pregnancy, we need to start thinking about real prenatal care in the next few weeks. If you don’t want to continue, we’re in the safer window to make that decision without you doing something stupid or dangerous.”
My grip tightens on the wheel. “Love that I apparently give off likely to do something stupid vibes,” I scoff.
“You give off cornered animal vibes,” Dr. L says calmly.
Out the windshield, the highway curves, my body on autopilot, while my brain tries to rearrange itself around the word as it progresses. “So, it’s real,” I whisper.
“It was real when you peed on the stick,” she says. “It’s just confirmed now. Reality doesn’t wait for you to be ready; it just keeps happening. The only control you get is how you respond.”
I swallow, mouth tasting like metal. “Do I need to be doing anything right now?” I ask. “Besides, don't drive into a tree.”
“Not immediately,” she confirms. “Just avoid anything that can cause heavy impacts, no new experimental drugs, no deciding today is the day you test how far you can push your pain tolerance. You’d be surprised how often I have to say that last one to people who grew up with normal lives.”
I huff out a breath that almost passes for a laugh. “No promises on that third one. My whole life is a series of let’s see if this kills me.”
“I’ll send you a summary of the labs, along with a list of things to avoid and things to watch for. Then we talk options when you’re not in motion.”
“And the privacy situation?” I ask. “Any chance this pinged on any systems?”
“I ran everything off-grid,” Dr. L says. “As far as anyone knows, you never entered any systems.”
The van’s brake lights flare briefly up ahead as Sterling adjusts speed for a slower car. I ease off the gas, matching him, and sliding into the other lane when he does. We move like we’ve done this a hundred times. “What if I don’t decide?” I ask. “What if I just… keep moving and let it happen or not happen around me?”
“Then you’ve made a decision.” Nothing but blunt truth in her voice. “You’ve decided to let other people’s choices dictate the outcome. Your body’s. Phase IVs, Sterling’s, or what you think his choice would be.”
The name steals every ounce of breath in me as I force my eyes to stay on the road. “I don’t even know how to tell him,” I admit quietly. “What am I supposed to say? Hey, remember the opera? Surprise ending loading.”
“Start by telling yourself,” she says. “Out loud. Preferably, when you’re not also operating heavy machinery.”
“That sounds terrible,” I say.
“Yeah,” she says. “But it’s step one.” For a moment, the only sound is the faint hiss of air through the vents. “Do you want my medical opinion,” she asks quietly, “or a friend’s?”
“Both.”
“Medically, you’re in good enough shape to carry a pregnancy, with appropriate care, assuming no surprises. You’re also living in a high-stress, high-risk environment that makes that more complicated than it would be for, say, someone whose biggest daily threat is missing a bus. If you choose to continue, I’d want to see you regularly and have an actual plan.”
“And friend?” I ask.
“As a friend…I think you’ve been making choices based on other people’s experiments your entire life. Whether you keep this pregnancy or end it, I want it to be the first thing you do purely because it’s what you want, not what you think they want from you, not what you think makes you more or less useful as a weapon.”
“Not sure I remember how to want things,” I say.
“Then this is as good a time as any to relearn,” she says.
“Okay.”
“You need to get where you’re going without dying, eat something, and rest. Read the summary I sent. Then, when you’re ready, call me back, and we’ll talk about whether you want referrals for prenatal care or termination. No judgment attached to either.”
