Three months later…
I sit at the edge of the bed, my hands shaking as I stare down at the plastic stick in my hand. Two lines. The two lines I never expected — and, until now, never dared to hope for.
I’m pregnant.
The realization sinks in slowly, a blend of emotions swelling in my chest — wonder, disbelief, a tentative joy. But as I stare at those two lines, a shadow falls over the happiness I know I should be feeling.
Because I can’t be certain. I can’t be completely, undeniably certain who the father is.
I close my eyes, a mix of memories and regrets spinning through my mind. That night with Alex, so charged with confusion and old emotions, feels like a lifetime ago.
And then, Benedict — the one person I’d finally let my guard down with again after Alex, the one who made me feel I could start again.
Now, the reality that this child could be either of theirs feels overwhelming, twisting the quiet joy I want to feel into something tinged with doubt and worry.