Page 115 of Possessive Ink

Her words fade away, so I shake the box onto the counter until a folded set of instructions falls out. Unfolding the thin sheet of paper, I scan the instructions until I get to the bit about reading the results. “Two lines—a control line, and a second line means pregnant.”

“There are two lines,” she whimpers.

“There are two lines,” I repeat. “You’re pregnant.”

“It could be a false positive,” she whimpers, tears still rolling down her cheeks.

“So let’s take another test,” I say, trying to keep the hope out of my voice.

“I don’t need to pee,” she whimpers.

“I’ll get you a drink.” Stumbling out of the bathroom, I make a beeline for the kitchen, grab a bottle of water, then another, and rush back to the bathroom. Lemon is still on the floor, so I crouch down beside her, open the first bottle, and hand it to her.

Her hands are shaking as she reaches out and takes it from me, bringing it to her lips and drinking deeply. Neither of us speaks while she gulps down the first bottle and then the second.

“I need to get another cup,” she says, her voice small and meek.

“Where are they? I’ll get one.”

“In the bottom cabinet with the platters.”

Rushing back into the kitchen, I grab another bottle of water just in case she needs it, then practically run for the bedroom as hope starts to bloom inside of me.

“Do you need this?” I ask, forcing myself to sound calm as I hand her the bottle, but she shakes her head.

Taking the cup from me, she glances at the door. “I should…” She gestures with the cup.

“Okay,” I say, not even glancing in the direction of the door.

“Maybe some privacy,” she suggests.

“No,” I refuse.

“Atticus,” she whispers.

“Here.” Taking the cup back, I lift her up from the floor and carry her to the toilet, lifting her skirt for her, then positioning the cup between her legs as I pull her to sit down.

Closing her eyes like she can’t believe this is happening, she jolts when I spread my palm over her thigh. “Settle, Princess,” I coo softly.

Her eyes squeeze closed even tighter as the sound of liquid hitting the cup fills the room. Once she’s finished, I tap her leg, signaling for her to stand up, then place the cup on the counter beside the one I hadn’t noticed before.

After we both wash our hands, she retreats back a step while I rip open another test. I read the instructions again before I dip the end of it into the cup of pee. Neither of us speaks while I time fifteen seconds on my watch, then place the test onto the foil wrapper, the same way she had done.

Reaching for her hand, I squeeze it tightly as three minutes count down. When the time is up, I lean down, feeling resistance on my hand as she tries to pull her fingers free. Not letting her go, I tighten my hold, then pull her to me as I look at the test and the two clear lines.

“You’re pregnant,” I say, not able to hide my pleasure this time.

“I know,” she says, without a hint of happiness.

“You’re not happy?” I question.

“I’m so sorry,” she says again. “I’m on birth control. I promise I am. I didn’t do this deliberately,” she rambles, fresh tears soaking her cheeks.

“Princess. Lemon,” I call her, trying to get her attention.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t know how this happened,” she says so quickly I can barely understand her.

“Lemon,” I shout, loud enough to garner her attention.