Page 203 of Triplet Babies for my Ex's Best Friend

I prefer hers.

“What happened to me?” I ask.

“You had a syncopal episode. A fainting spell. Your blood pressure was low when you arrived, and you were mildly dehydrated. We’ve given you fluids, and your vitals have improved.”

“Okay,” I say slowly. “That sounds… not great, but not death.”

“We also ran some bloodwork,” she continues, glancing at the tablet. “And there’s another factor that likely contributed.”

Her tone changes. My stomach tightens. Ethan goes still beside me.

“What factor?” I ask.

Dr. Patel looks at me gently. “Adeline, your pregnancy test came back positive.”

I hear absolutely nothing. The room goes white at the edges. I blink hard, waiting for the room to reset itself into something reasonable.

It doesn’t.

The hospital room remains exactly where it was. So does the doctor. So do the words hanging in the air between us. Still floating like someone threw a grenade and called it medical information.

“I’m sorry,” I say, because apparently my manners have survived even if my sanity has not. “What?”

“You’re pregnant.”

My laugh comes out wrong. “No, I’m not.”

Dr. Patel doesn’t look offended. Probably because she tells women shocking uterus news all the time. “I understand this is unexpected.”

Unexpected.

That's a tiny little word for what's currently happening. Unexpected is finding out the coffee shop is closed. Unexpected is stepping in a puddle. Unexpected isn't waking up in a hospital after fainting at your boss’s aviation gala and being told your uterus has launched a side project.

“I can’t be pregnant,” I say.

The doctor’s expression remains kind. “The blood test is very reliable.”

My brain grabs for dates and comes up with screaming. The plane, the first-class seat, Ethan’s mouth, that stupid, reckless, grief-fueled, rage-fueled, one-mile-high bad decision.

And then after.

The penthouse, the hallway, the bed, the rules we kept breaking like they were made of tissue paper.

I press my hand to my stomach without meaning to.

No.

No, no, no.

This isn't happening.

I turn my head slowly toward Ethan.

He's staring at the doctor, and I can see it packed behind his eyes. Shock, fear, calculation. Something darker and old.

For one awful second, I think of Megan. His wife, his loss, his entire world already broken once. And now here I am, lying in a hospital bed, apparently pregnant, because my life is allergic to reasonable pacing.

“Ethan,” I whisper.