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And the tests.
There are fourteen in total. Fourteen pregnancy tests that I drove two hours to get.
I didn’t want anyone to recognize me.
Fourteen tests.
That I took over the course of seven hours.
Two per hour.
And they all have the exact.
Same.
Result.
If it was anyone else, I’d ask if they were pregnant.
It’s funny. As a woman in my mid-twenties, that is what usually happens the second I say I’m not feeling well. Headache? Must be pregnant. Feeling sad? Pregnant. Skin issues? Pregnant.
I never thought that it would be true.
I can’t have kids.
I will admit, Thorne and I have had a lot of sex.
Like. A lot.
It’s only been eight weeks since that day in the Oakwood Café. I can confidently say we’ve been on zero actual dates since then.
But we’ve had sex pretty much every single day.
I hadn’t worried about pregnancy. I’m not on birth control, because I didn’t think I had to be but…
Fourteen tests.
Fourteen.
I am most definitely pregnant.
I’m still staring at them when the next worst thing happens.
“Hey sweetheart, hope you’re hungry. I grabbed us…”
I spin.
Like a total dummy, I had set all the tests out in front of me on my living room table. I hadn’t exactly forgotten that Thorne was coming over tonight.
But I hadn’t exactly remembered it either.
So the second he opens the door, I start to scramble to pick them up. I grab tests one through ten, but there are four more sitting out.
Four more that his eyes go straight to when he walks in the door, which I stupidly left unlocked.
Because who locks their doors in Oakwood?
Thorne looks at me. He looks at the pregnancy tests on the table. He looks at the ones in my hand.
