Page 96 of Protected from Torment

Everything else fades into the background as the breathless thought crashes into me.

Could I be pregnant?

“I have some extra tests,” Eden offers. “From when we were trying. Do you want to use one? Just in case?”

“But I’m only a week late,” I reply weakly. “It’s too soon.”

“These are early response. They’re supposed to detect pregnancy before the first missed period.”

For a second, I just look at Eden, reeling from the possibility.

Could I be?

Or am I just setting myself up for yet another disappointment?

Finally, almost hesitantly, I nod. “I guess I’ll try one. Just to see.” Just as Eden rises from the couch, I add quickly, “But I’m sure it’s negative. The doctors said⁠—”

“Maybe,” she interrupts in a kindly tone. “But this way, you’ll know for sure.”

And there’s really no argument for that.

So I take the test when Eden hands it to me.

I go back into the bathroom and pee on the little stick, not quite believing I’m even considering the possibility.

Then I put the test on the counter, set the timer on my phone, and spend the next few minutes cleaning the toilet with the supplies I found beneath the sink instead of watching the invisible blue line, like I really want to.

“A watched pot never boils,” my mom liked to tell me. “It always feels ten times longer when you’re watching. If you find something else to do, the time passes so much faster.”

And like most things mothers say, it turns out she’s right. Because just as I’m washing my hands after putting away the cleaning supplies, the timer buzzes.

My heart jumps to my throat.

My chest squeezes so tightly I can’t take a full breath.

When I reach for the test, it feels like I’m watching my hand move in slow motion.

Then I pick it up.

I look at the indicator window.

And there.

Oh.

Two lines.

There are two lines.

I don’t even realize I’m crying until a drop of water lands on my hand.

“Melissa?” Eden softly raps on the door. “Are you alright? Do you⁠—”

I open the door and hold the test out to her. In a shaking voice, I ask, “Does this say what I think it does?”

She inspects the test stick for a second, then raises her gaze to mine. A smile blossoms across her face. “It says you’re pregnant.”

At her confirmation of what I already suspected, fear and joy and confusion slam into me at once. And I cry even harder.