After-Effects

12 - 1

Karissa

Facing Keith right after my night shift was stressing, but I knew it was unavoidable. The uncertainty engulfing my life had become suffocating, and I refused to stand idly by as my future blurred into chaos. Assembling every ounce of determination, I composed myself to confront the situation with positivity, no matter how impossibly difficult everything appeared.

I'd face pain, and some days would be rougher than others, but one thing I couldn't continue was this run – from the countless questions swirling in my mind and from Keith, and life. With an innocent life potentially binding us for a lifetime, I couldn't keep dashing across the street from the reality, any longer.

Considering the severity of our discussion, a public setting felt insufficient. When Keith suggested we talk at his place, I agreed. It was a deliberate choice; inviting him to my home might have sent the wrong signal, and I wasn't going to blur the lines between closure and reconciliation.

We drove separately, and I arrived at his place a few minutes after he did. With a resolute breath, I stepped out of the car, pushing aside the swirling emotions and mental anguish. This wasn't the time for self-pity, I had a more crucial task at hand, like facing the current perplexing situation and securing a clearer future.

I trailed behind him into the house, my rumbling stomach protesting the skipped breakfast. A meal beforehand would have been wise, but it was too late now. As I kicked off my shoes, relief washed over my sore feet. A soft snort escaped my lips, frustration simmering just below my patience. Keith turned to me, his eyes clouded with concern.

"Are you hungry?" Keith asked, his words tumbling out in a gentle ramble. "I mean, it's morning, and youre hungry first thing, what I'm trying to say is, I can make something for you?" His offer was sincere, but every word grated on my nerves. Even the smallest gestures seemed amplified for some reason.

"Please," I whispered, careful to keep my tone neutral, masking the resentment that lingered beneath. After all, I reasoned silently, this was the least he could do, considering I was entangled in this messy webs of irritating reality because of him.

I appreciated Keith's kindness and consideration, but I wasn't about to be swayed by simple gestures. I wouldn't be that lovesick fool, blindly swooning over the bare minimum, especially not after everything I had been through.

Ten minutes later, Keith reappeared with a tray full of milk, cornflakes, a strawberry milkshake, and two fluffy pancakes. His effortless efficiency in the kitchen still amazed me, a skill that once captivated my heart but now simply earned my genuine gratitude.

As I savored each bite, Keith's gaze lingered on me, his eyes attentive and searching. My heart began to hammer wildly, sparking a doubtful flutter in my belly. I couldn't shake the feeling that he somehow sensed the unspoken news I carried, that he knew more than he let on.

Once I'd finished eating some of it, Keith carefully lifted the tray and set it aside, his movements deliberate. He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he steeled himself to speak. The air thickened with anticipation, and I felt my defenses instinctively rise.

Keith's eyes locked onto mine, "Are you pregnant, Karissa?" The directness of his question hit me like a blow, despite my suspicion that he already knew. Chelsea's loose lips had likely spilled the secret, especially after our explosive argument when she stormed out.

"Yes," I replied, my answer brief and sincere.

Keith's face transformed in rapid succession - shock melted into compassion, and then grief and guilt etched deep lines on his features. His eyes, filled with regret, locked onto mine, searching for something.