Inhale, exhale, Lucy.
Things weren't supposed to happen this way—not now, not like this. It was far too soon, too sudden. Not now. Not like this. Everything was still being rebuilt, little by little. Things were fragile. They were still fragile even after 4 months.
They cherished the second chance they had given each other because they knew—it was the second and the last. There was no way their story would become a series of yeses and nos, of suffering.
And to get here, they had sacrificed nights, days, weeks, and months. Hours upon hours spent sitting on an uncomfortable chair in therapy. Rebuilding trust in steps, without rushing, without forgetting that they were human and that perfection was impossible. Acknowledging their mistakes and doing their best to fix them. Healing separately before they could heal together. And then, it was also about giving in, finding each other in a bedroom, on a bed, in a room, against a wall—because, whether they liked it or not, it was also a way for them to heal and move forward, telling themselves each time that it would be the last.
And then, one day, it meant having enough courage to resist—and talk. Talk about the past, the present, and the future. Realizing they had let too much time pass without speaking, afraid the other wasn't ready. Putting words to actions, making the decision to start over. Seducing each other again, going out, spending the night at one place, then the other, sharing an evening, then two, then mornings—falling back into what they had missed the most: them.
But this morning, when the word « pregnant » appeared on that damn test, all that fragility resurfaced.
It wasn't supposed to happen like this. Not now. Not without being ready. Not without a conversation. An accident. The result of an oversight, lost in the moment and pleasure.
Lucy would be lying if she said she wasn't afraid. She « should » be thrilled—yet, in reality, she was terrified. Terrified to tell Tim. Terrified to make a decision. Terrified to lose him. Because if someone asked her today to choose between a child and Tim, she would choose Tim. A life without him would be meaningless. The love of her life, her soulmate. The mere thought of losing him again was unbearable.
Inhale, exhale Lucy.
Tonight. She would tell him tonight.
And yet, the day slipped away at an alarming speed, as if the universe was trying to send her a message. Lucy would be lying if she said she hadn't deliberately avoided Tim. And Tim would be lying if he said he hadn't noticed that something was off.
Inhale, exhale Lucy.
As Lucy stepped onto the parking lot, she saw Tim waiting beside his car. Her heart pounded. God, she loved this man. Her man.
And just as she was about to gather herself, he looked up—and smiled at her.
After a brief kiss, Lucy got lost in his gaze, forgetting time itself. Tim let his hand slide from her shoulder to her hand, his eyes locking onto hers.
« What's wrong? »
The question shattered her bubble, yanking her back into reality. She glanced left and right, hoping for a little privacy. She wanted to say, « Not now, not here. » But she couldn't. She needed to talk, to let it out—especially now that he had asked.
And of course, once again, they were about to have a life-altering conversation in this damn parking lot.
« Lucy? »
« Uh, I'm late. I took a test this morning. Positive. »
She blurted it out, like ripping off a band-aid.
