Whispers of Deceit.

Chapter 9

There's an unusual excitement in the air today. I'm supposed to get my period, but Jared has a different idea. He's completely convinced I'm pregnant—so much so that he smiled at me this morning like he already knows something I don't. I tried to remind him it's only been a week since we started 'trying', but he's certain we got it right the first time. What he doesn't know is that my period's delay isn't some early sign of success—it's because of the contraceptive pill.

I spoke with my GP yesterday while Jared was at work, asking when I could safely take a break from the pill and still be covered. She assured me I needed to complete the full three weeks before taking a break. But I can't wait that long. If I push it another two and a half weeks, Jared might start to notice, and I don't want to raise any suspicions. So today, I didn't take the pill, and I know my period will likely start in the next few days.

It's Friday evening now, and things between Jared and me feel good—better than they have in a while. While I do feel a little guilty about still taking the pill, it's a small reassurance that we're not about to ruin our lives forever.

"I might head to the pub with the boys," Jared announces, strolling into the living room with a casual grin.

I glance up from my book and raise an eyebrow. "The pub? At this hour? It's almost eight."

He shrugs, his smile widening. "I feel like celebrating."

I sigh, closing my book. "Jared, come on. You're getting excited over nothing. I'm not pregnant. Please don't get your hopes up."

His grin doesn't falter. "Why don't we just take a test then? Just to be sure."

I've been dodging this suggestion all day. First, because I know for a fact I'm not pregnant, and second, even if I were, it's way too early to tell.

But his excitement is contagious, and against my better judgment, I relent. "Fine."

Jared's face lights up like it's Christmas morning. We head upstairs, and he's practically buzzing with energy. In the bathroom, I reach under the sink for a pregnancy test and grab one of those little disposable mouthwash cups. As I sit on the toilet, Jared perches on the edge of the tub, eyes locked on me, his anticipation filling the room.

I can't help but roll my eyes a little as I go through the motions. Pee in the cup, stick the test in—such a waste of a pregnancy test, I think.

I count to ten, pull the test out, cap it, and clean up. The five-minute wait feels eternal. Even though I know I'm not pregnant, a flicker of anxiety creeps in. What if there are two lines? What if this wild scenario Jared's imagined turns out to be true? My stomach tightens, but I shake the thought away. Of course, I'm not pregnant.

"I want to look," Jared says, unable to contain himself any longer.

He grabs the test, takes a deep breath, and then glances at it. His face falls, the light in his eyes dimming. A small part of me feels relief, and I can't help but smile slightly. But when he looks up, I quickly swap it for a more sympathetic expression.

"It was our first try. Sometimes it takes people years," I say, pulling him into a hug.

He nods, the disappointment evident. "I know. I just... convinced myself."

I give him a reassuring squeeze. "We've got time."

It's nearing 10 p.m. now, and the house is finally quiet. I managed to convince Jared to go to the pub, though he hesitated. He didn't want to leave me, but I practically pushed him out the door, telling him it would do him good to see his friends—anything to take his mind off the relentless baby talk. The only way I could actually get him to go was by driving him myself, so I did.