Twelve Months

September

Sara felt sick. Her mouth fell open with shock and her shaking hand clamped over it to muffle her cry. Tears welled in her eyes but she didn't know why. Her entire body rushed with mixed emotions, some good, and some bad. How would she tell Michael? They certainly hadn't planned for this. Sara gulped an unwelcome lump down her throat and felt dizzy, her hand darting to the white porcelain sink beside her for support.

Sara held the plastic stick in her hand, an unmistakeable blue cross to one side of the window. She picked up the thin paper instructions and scanned them once more. She even read them aloud to make sure she had done it correctly. The instructions rustled in her hands as she twisted them back and fourth, flipping the page over to read the other side.

"In some circumstances, false positives can occur," she read aloud with a hint of hope in her breaking voice. She sighed but it was not relief. There could still be a chance she was pregnant. She was a doctor and the plain truth was the chances of a false positive were slim. They happened but not very often and under the circumstances, Sara figured hers was neither false nor intended.

Her hands sunk to her lap and she rubbed her legs nervously, tapping her fingertips against the black material of her pants. The bathroom of their apartment was heated and the bright lighting bounced off the white tiles and chrome taps like rays of sunlight, but she still felt cold. Sara's entire body tingled with adrenaline, a sudden rush of it surging from her brain as she contemplated the future.

The cooking timer in the kitchen buzzed to life and its tiny hammer hit the bell inside furiously alerting her to the meal she had cooking of the hob. Sara stuffed the pregnancy test back into its box and tossed it into the waste bin quickly followed by several sheets of toilet paper to hide it. She pulled the bathroom door, which opened silently, floating across a tiled floor it never touched.

Sara rushed to the kitchen where her pasta was boiling over the ceramic top leaving crusty white froth to bake itself onto the surface. Grabbing a towel she wrenched it from the top and slammed the heavy pot onto the side where it immediately turned silent and proceeded to steam from the tiny hole in the glass lid. Sara opened it, a rush of steam invading the air and condensing almost immediately into tiny hot droplets. Sara peered into the silver pan and we met with a burning smell. On further inspection with a fork she discovered the water had all but completely boiled away and the pasta had sealed itself to the base of the saucepan.

"Dammit!" Sara exclaimed angrily, throwing the towel onto the counter with a wet thud. She leant back against the counter and buried her face in her hands trying to calm herself. Today was too much to cope with all at once and just when she thought the day couldn't get any worse, she heard Michael's key turn in the lock. Her head snapped up and she dropped her arms to cross in front of her chest.

Michael stepped into the apartment he had previously occupied by himself before his and Lincoln's exoneration meant he could be with Sara. It was still very much his apartment, bare and minimal in places where it lacked a woman's homely touch. The floor was laminate wood but it was a dark stain and slightly spongy underfoot. Most of the furniture matched the flooring and the walls were a mixture of chocolate brown and cream, painted in correspondence to how the light hit them from the massive balcony window.

Michael let the door close behind him and yanked his jacket off his shoulders. His long blue sleeves had been unevenly rolled up to his elbows and his marbled skin was clearly visible. He flashed Sara a smile that was never forced, no matter how tired he was. She returned it weakly as he stepped from the wooden floor to the tiled one, hung his jacket across the back of one the dining chairs and reached her for a kiss.

"Hey," he greeted her happily placing a warm hand to her arm and planting a soft kiss to her mouth. Sara kissed him back but her arms remained crossed and Michael looked at her with a questioning face. His brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed slightly until he noticed the charred remains of pasta next to her on the counter. "Oh..." he said with a roll of his eyes suddenly understanding her frustrated glare.