Page 5 of Verdict

My brain began to spiral—how was I going to tell the father? That I was the one who’d messed up, that this was my fault. I could raise a child by myself, right? Women did it all the time. Would I have to quit my job? Put my career on hold? Find something with more practical hours. How was I going to juggle being a single mom AND a lawyer?

I pressed my palms to the cold granite, trying to steady the dizzy feeling spinning through me. My brain kept jumping ahead—doctor appointments, due dates, maternity leave, telling my family.

Telling Walker.

Christ. My brother was going to lose his mind.

I dragged a shaky breath into my lungs and rested my hand on my stomach, the gesture instinctive even though there was nothing to feel yet. No movement. No proof beyond the plastic sticks scattered across the counter.

And yet somehow everything in my life had already changed.

I’d spent years carefully building the version of my life I wanted—law school, the firm, the independence I’d fought so hard for. None of those plans had included this. But staring down at those tests, one thought rose above the panic.

This was happening.

And I had no idea what came next.

I shouldn’t have been surprised. The one time in my life I’d been careless, missed a few days of my pill, was the same month I’d decided to have unprotected sex.

I sank to the floor, my back sliding down the vanity as tears blurred my vision.

What am I going to do?

I was twenty-seven. Single. Deep into my career as a lawyer. This wasn’t part of the plan. But I guess life didn’t care about timing—it just happened while you were busy making plans.

So I did the only thing I could think to do. I called my big sister.

It took nothing more than the sound of my voice for Addison to hang up and drive the hour from Primrose Hill to Austin. I never moved from the bathroom floor. When I heard the key turn in the lock and the front door open, my chest tightened.

“Avs?” Addison called out. “Where are you?”

“Bathroom,” I croaked.

She stopped short when she rounded the corner, her eyes widened as she took in the scene—me curled on the floor, tear-streaked cheeks, pregnancy tests scattered around me like evidence.

I looked up at her, defeated.

Her brows pulled together as she rushed to me, dropping to her knees and wrapping me in a hug I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath for. She pressed a kiss to my hair, her fingers moving in that same comforting rhythm she used to do when we were kids and I’d had a bad day.

“Avs,” she murmured. “It’s okay. We’ll figure this out.”

I leaned into her, breathing in the familiar scent of her shampoo. Addison had always been the comfort in our family. Walker was the storm, I was the spark, Weston was the anchor, and somehow Addison still managed to hold us all together.

When we were kids, she was the one who fixed things—broken friendships, broken hearts, broken bones after Walker convinced me to jump my horse over something stupid.

Apparently, adulthood wasn’t any different.

“Talk to me,” she said softly. “How far along do you think you are?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Maybe four weeks? Five?”

She nodded slowly, already thinking through it the way she always did. “Okay. First step is doctor. Get a blood test to confirm. Then we go from there.”

We.

My throat tightened.

“You’re not mad?” I asked quietly.