Page 106 of Break Me

The doubt fades as quickly as it came. Everything fits. I shouldn’t be this sure. But I am.

I know her. I know the rhythm of her body. And my gut doesn’t misfire where she’s concerned.

That’s enough.

I kill the engine and walk inside.

Raven

The sound of the bike comes before I see him. That low, steady rumble rolling up the drive makes my heart jump into my throat.

My palm presses flat against my stomach, instinctive, protective.

It's ridiculous. There's no proof. No reason to believe anything yet. But when the front door opens, I'm already moving toward him before I can stop myself.

He steps in holding a small white bag.

“Three?” I say, peeking inside.

He shrugs. “You don’t just buy one of these.”

A smile pulls at my mouth. “You Google that?”

“Yeah,” he admits. “It said most people grab a couple. Just in case.”

That makes me laugh. “You really did your homework.”

“If we’re doing this,” he says evenly, “we’re doing it right.”

He looks so sure. So ready.

And somehow that makes me braver.

We’re doing this.

I take the bag from him and head toward the bathroom before I can overthink it. The door clicks shut behind me. The boxes sit on the counter, unopened, and I stare at them for a second.

This wasn’t on my card. Not circled on a calendar and not penciled into some careful plan. And yet suddenly it’s the only thing that matters.

My periods have never been predictable. I’ve skipped months before and then had two in a row. Stress throws it off. Travel throws it off. Existing seems to throw it off.

But this feels different.

My hands aren’t as steady as I pretend they are as I open the first test.

This part is clinical. Instructions. Timing. Waiting. I move through each step carefully like my precision might influence the outcome.

When it’s done, I set the test on the counter and start a three-minute timer on my phone and force myself not to hover.

The mirror catches my reflection. Nothing looks different. Same woman. Same body I've lived in for years.

Still, I turn sideways and lift my shirt. My gaze settles on the gentle curve of my stomach, and for just a second, I imagine I can see something different.

It's too early, I tell myself. Still, hope finds its way in.

I rest my palm there again.

A baby. Not just any baby, our baby.