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For the first time, the thought didn’t send me into a panic. Beneath the fear, I felt a small rush of excitement. That scared me enough to turn back toward the window.

I wasn’t going to do that to myself.

Not yet.

The driver pulled into the drugstore parking lot, and I was out of the car before he could come around to open my door.

“I’ll only be a few minutes.”

“I’ll wait here.”

The automatic doors opened, and cold air hit my face as I walked inside. I grabbed a basket even though I only needed one thing because suddenly buying nothing but a pregnancy test felt like announcing my business to everyone in the store.

I wandered through the aisles and picked up things I didn’t need. Shampoo, then gum, a magazine, and a bottle of nail polish I probably already owned in almost the exact same shade.

Eventually, I reached the pregnancy tests. I stopped in front of the shelf and stared. There were too many fucking choices. The brands filled the shelves, each promising better accuracy or a simpler answer to a question I wasn’t sure I wanted to ask.

I grabbed two boxes. Then I reached back and grabbed another one. Three different pregnancy tests landed in the basket beside my shampoo and gum.

Apparently, I planned on being pregnant three separate times.

The stupid thought almost made me laugh, but my stomach was twisting too much for it to come out.

The cashier barely looked at me while she rang everything up. I watched each box disappear into the plastic bag. I had never cared this much about anything I’d bought before.

When I climbed back into the car, I tucked the bag beside my feet. The driver didn’t ask what I’d bought. He didn’t say anything at all, but I found myself wondering whether Richard would hear that I’d asked to be taken to a drugstore.

I stared down at the bag for the rest of the drive.

There was nothing to tell him yet. I might not even be pregnant.

The second we reached the house, I grabbed the bag and went inside. I didn’t bother putting away anything else I’d bought before taking all three tests upstairs and locking myself in the bathroom.

For several seconds, I stood in front of the counter looking at the boxes lined up in front of me.

I opened all three.

My hands were shaking, so I read the directions twice before taking out the tests. Then I used them one after another and laid them across the counter.

Then I waited. I checked the clock on the wall, convinced several minutes had passed.

It had barely been one.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

I walked into the bedroom, made it halfway to the window, then turned around and came back.

Still not enough time.

I refused to look at the test early, although I couldn’t explain why. Maybe as long as I didn’t look, nothing had actually changed yet.

I could still tell myself I was late because I was stressed. I could still laugh at myself afterward. I could still pretend I hadn’t already started wondering what would happen if the answer was positive.

When enough time had finally passed, I walked back into the bathroom.

I was afraid to look. I took a deep breath then I picked it up.

Two lines stared back at me.