That is why I have the blood tests done at the hospital this morning. The scans too.
They are far more reliable than a pharmacy test.
There was no doubt anymore.
I was pregnant.
The official report now sat in my hand—thin paper, printed words, medical confirmation that felt far heavier than anything physical should have the right to be.
Each line blurred slightly as I stared at it.
Our relationship had only begun to feel safe in the last few weeks.
Not perfect. But... real.
Rafael had changed in ways I hadn’t expected.
Or maybe I had simply stopped fighting what was already there.
Now, standing in the silence of the house, I dread the conversation that inevitably awaits me.
How am I supposed to tell him?
How do I look Rafael in the eye and tell him I might be carrying his child?
My grip tightens around the envelope.
A thousand terrible possibilities immediately begin to crowd my mind.
Would he be angry?
Would he blame me for it?
Would he look at me and see nothing but another complication in a life already drowning in grief?
Or worse—
Would he remind me that the only woman he ever imagined building a family with was Zara?
The thought makes my stomach twist.
Because for all the progress we’ve made, for all the walls that have fallen between us, there is still a part of me that cannot imagine Rafael welcoming this news.
Not when so much of him still seems trapped in a past he cannot let go of.
Not when Zara’s shadow still lingers in every corner of our marriage.
And yet another part of me—the foolish, hopeful part—cannot stop wondering what if.
What if he doesn’t look away?
What if he doesn’t reject it?
What if, for the first time, he sees a future instead of a ghost?
My fingers tightened slightly around the envelope again, crumpling it further without meaning to.
I forced myself to breathe, but the air felt heavier than it should have been.
