My lips still tingle from Dominic’s goodbye kiss as I walk up the stairs toward our bedroom.
I hate that he’s gone again. But at least I can do this next part with privacy.
Just breathe.
My feet take me through the bedroom, into the bathroom.
I’ve already decided that I’m going to do this. Because I need to know. So I don’t hesitate. I walk straight to the cabinet next to my sink and open it, taking out the leather bag.
My fingers shake a little as I unzip the top and pull out the slender box.
It’s just a moment. One moment in time.
“You can do this,” I say, trying to convince myself that I’m not terrified.
I read the instructions on the side of the box. Then I read them three more times.
I’ve never had to take an at-home test before. I’ve never had so much as a pregnancy scare before. But now… Well, now I can’t imagine having done this before today. Like some of the other broke girls I went to college with, taking these tests in their early twenties. I don’t know how they survived the stress. At least I’m more financially secure than I ever could have dreamed of. And I’m with someone I’m pretty sure I’m in love with. And he comes with a big family that would certainly be involved in our child’s life.
But even with all that, I’m still terrified.
And even though I want a family more than anything, I don’t know if having the baby is the right choice.
It’s too soon.
This life is too dangerous.
People are actively trying to kill my husband.
We need round-the-clock security.
And yet…
I rip the box open and take out one of the two sealed tests within.
Reading the box one more time, I set it down and tear open the packaging around the testing stick.
It looks just like it does on TV. Exactly like the picture on the box.
“Just pee on the stick for five seconds. Set the stick on the counter. Wait.”
Worried I might accidentally pee on my hand, I decide I don’t want to have to deal with pulling my pants back up, so I shove them and my underwear off. Then I walk to the little toilet room with nothing but my shirt on and leave the door open.
I purposefully didn’t go to the bathroom after we landed, and now I really have to pee, so even though I’m freaking out, I sit with my legs spread wide and immediately start to go.
And I pee on the stick.
Five seconds feels like forever. But I can’t really stop going once I start, so now I’m just sitting here, holding the peed-on test in front of me while I finish.
It’s going to be fine.
It will all be fine.
I repeat that mantra to myself as I fumble with the toilet paper one handed and then walk bare assed back to the sink.
I’m careful to set the test away from the edge of the counter so I don’t accidentally bump it, then wash my hands. Twice. Then I set my phone alarm for the correct amount of time, according to the test box, and go into the closet.
Dressed in my comfort outfit—sweatpants and Dom’s Yale sweatshirt—I pace into the bedroom.
These are the longest minutes I’ve ever lived. But I can’t just stand there and watch the test. I have to wait it out.
I’m turning, ready to pace the other way, when my eye catches on something glittering in the sun.
Is that…?
My breath catches as I move toward the chair in the corner of the room. Because sitting on the seat is the bowl. My bowl. The one I bought at the Christmas market.
It takes me two tries to swallow as I lift it into my hands.
Using my fingertip, I trace the upper lip of the brightly painted bowl, spinning it slowly, feeling the perfectly smooth surface all the way around.
I bite down on my lower lip to keep it from trembling.
The chipped part, the piece I broke when I fell, has been filled. With hundreds of tiny diamonds. And sealed with something clear and smooth. So when you close your eyes, you can’t even tell where it is.
I hug the bowl to my chest.
Dominic fixed it for me.
He fixed what was broken and made it better.
I am so fucking in love with this man.
When my phone timer goes off, I set the bowl back where I found it and slowly walk back into the bathroom.
Standing two steps away from the counter, I press my palms to my cheeks.
My stomach is rolling.
My heart is thudding.
And I don’t even know what answer I’m hoping for anymore.
I can do this.
I can do anything.
I step closer and look at the test.
