Her life! GxG! Intersex! (Book 1)

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Abigail woke with a sharp gasp, her heart racing like she'd been running.

For a second she was still trapped in the dream—bright store lights, empty shelves, her hands grabbing frantically where diapers should've been. Bottles gone. Wipes gone. A crying baby somewhere she couldn't reach.

She sat up in bed, chest tight, breath shallow.

No.
No, it was just a dream.

But the feeling stuck.

Careful not to wake Emma, Abigail slid out of bed and padded down the hall. The apartment was quiet, wrapped in that early Saturday stillness where everything felt suspended. She pushed open the nursery door and stepped inside.

The room was peaceful. Too peaceful.

The crib sat waiting. The shelves were empty but clean. The rocking chair by the window caught the soft morning light. Everything looked right—and somehow that made it worse.

Abigail started pacing.

"We're really having a baby," she whispered.

Back and forth.

"What if we run out of diapers?" she said, rubbing her hands together. "What if it's three in the morning and everything's closed? What if we buy the wrong size and don't realize until it's too late?"

She turned, pacing the other direction now.

"What if we don't have enough wipes? What if the baby has sensitive skin? What if the bottles don't work and they won't eat and—"

Her breath hitched.

"What if I forget something important? What if I'm not ready? What if—"

She stopped abruptly, pressing her palms to her thighs.

"No," she said out loud, firmer. "Abigail. Calm down."

She inhaled slowly. Exhaled.

"You're spiraling," she told herself. "You're prepared. You have time. You're not doing this alone."

The words helped—but only a little.

She turned toward the doorway, deciding she needed space, air, something grounding. As she stepped into the hallway, her thoughts started tumbling again, faster now that she was moving.

"What if we run out of formula?" she muttered. "What if there's a shortage? What if the baby won't sleep and we don't know why? What if—"

Behind her, soft footsteps followed.

"O, Emmababe," Abigail suddenly said, voice pitching higher as the thoughts spilled out. "What if we run out of something? Like—what if the baby's crying and we don't know what they need? What if it's gas or hunger or something worse and I can't tell the difference? What if—"

She turned and nearly walked straight into Emma.

Emma stood there in the hallway, hoodie pulled over her hands, eyes still sleepy but locked on Abigail with concern. 

"Hey," Emma said gently. "Hey, come here."

Abigail's voice cracked. "What if I mess this up?"

Emma didn't answer right away. She just stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Abigail, holding her tight, grounding her with steady pressure.

"You're doing it again," Emma murmured softly. "The what-if spiral."

Abigail let out a shaky laugh against her shoulder. "I know. I can hear it happening and I still can't stop."