Page 111 of Filthy Lies

Yesterday’s test was wrong. A false positive. A cruel joke played by a universe that seems to delight in my suffering.

“No,” I whisper to the empty bathroom. “This can’t be right.”

But it is right. I know it is. The first response was the anomaly—stressed bodies do strange things, and pregnancy tests can befallible. This is reality crashing back in, crushing my fragile hope under its heel and cackling at my fledgling hope.

The most fucked-up part? I’m devastated.

I do it again and again. Three more tests until I empty the package.

One line.

One line.

One line.

I sink to the cold tile floor, tests clutched in my white-knuckled grip like the most fucked-up bouquet there ever was. Twenty-four hours ago, I was terrified at the prospect of another pregnancy. Now, I’m mourning its absence like a death.

A laugh bubbles up from my chest—bitter, jagged, bordering on hysterical.

What kind of monster am I? What kind of woman mourns a pregnancy that never was, when she already has a beautiful child sleeping safely in the next room? When that same woman was paralyzed with fear at the possibility just yesterday?

The kind of woman who loves a monster, perhaps.

The kind who’s becoming one herself.

41

ROWAN

Anastasia is in the kitchen when I stumble out. I wanted to snuggle Sofi for a while, but she was sleeping soundly, so I thought it was best to leave her alone.

When I step through the door, Anastasia takes one look at my face and knows.

“It was negative,” she says. Not a question.

“False alarm.” I push past her and drop into a seat at the counter, unable to meet her eyes. “Guess I’m not pregnant after all.”

She follows me, her silence more damning than any words could be. “Are you relieved?” Anastasia finally asks.

AmI relieved? Shouldn’t I be?

“I don’t know what I am.” I sound weak and miserable even to my own ears. “Yesterday, I was terrified. Today, I’m…” I trail off, unable to name the emptiness gnawing at my insides.

“Disappointed,” she supplies gently.

“Isn’t that messed up?” I turn to face her, anger suddenly surging through me. “I should be grateful. One less complication in our catastrophe of a life. One less reason for Vince to murder half of New York in the name of protection.”

Anastasia leans against the edge of the counter. “It’s not messed up. It’s human.”

“Nothing about my life is human anymore.”

“You wanted this baby,” she says simply. “Despite everything, you wanted it.”

She’s not wrong. Ididwant it. Part of me had already begun imagining a future with two children instead of one. Had already fallen in love with a possibility.

“It doesn’t matter,” I say, forcing certainty I don’t feel into my voice. “It was never real.”

“The pregnancy wasn’t. The desire was.” Anastasia stands, crosses to me. “And you should still tell Vincent.”

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