My period hadn’t come. I had to know.
I tore open the box and skimmed the instructions like they were an exam I hadn’t studied for. Then I followed them—mostly. It was hard to see where my pee was landing, but once I got into the flow of things (literally), I relaxed.
Until the voices started.
Irresponsible.
Unmarried.
How could you?
Why can’t you be more like Jenni?
I squeezed my eyes shut. If I was pregnant, it meant I’d managed to conceive before I’d even fully moved in. He’d basically impregnated me en route.
I reached for the little plastic lid and stuck it on the test before grabbing some toilet paper to set it carefully on the floor. Then I started counting the seconds, cleaning up as I went, heart hammering like it was trying to break out of my chest.
The light knock on the door made me jump.
“You okay in there?” His voice was low, soft.
I nodded, closing my eyes. “Yes,” I whispered.
“Juliette?”
“I’m fine,” I said, though my voice cracked.
He didn’t answer right away, and I assumed he’d walked off—until the door creaked open. His massive frame filled the doorway… and I saw the butter knife in his hand.
“Always breaking and entering,” I muttered.
He placed the knife on the counter and pulled me into his chest.
“Everything’s going to be okay. If you’re not pregnant, I can try harder,” he murmured into my hair as he rocked me gently.
Despite everything, a snort of laughter escaped me.
“That’s my girl.”
“I’m not your girl,” I muttered even as my arms circled his waist, even as I tucked my face against the warm line of his chest.
“The whole town thinks otherwise,” he said, voice smug and quiet, one hand stroking my back like I was a skitterish unbroken horse.
I didn’t answer. Just stood there, breathing him in—aftershave, laundry detergent, and whatever soap he used that I recognised.
I didn’t know how long we stayed like that—swaying a little, like we were slow dancing in the dark. His palm moved in slow circles. My heart thudded, loud and tired.
Then he patted my back once—twice—and exhaled like it sealed something.
“I knew it,” he whispered, soft and reverent. “We were meant to be.”
That shook me.
I twisted, trying to pull away—not far, just enough to look—and my eyes caught the test lying on the floor.
Two clean lines.
I was undeniably pregnant.
