Page 16 of The Edge Of Us

I smiled, but something in my gut twisted. Natasha had always been my best friend. My rock. She had taken care of my business when I couldn’t. She had managed my social media, makingsure the world still saw the glamorous, untouchable Corinne Woods even when I was at my weakest. I owed her everything.

So why did I feel uneasy?

Allen moved to stand beside me, his hand grazing my lower back. Reassuring. As if he knew I was spiraling. As if he could sense the paranoia creeping in. I swallowed hard and forced the thoughts away. I was fine now. I wasn’t sick anymore. I had to stop questioning everything.

The party went on, laughter filling the air as Kyle played with his cousins, balloons bouncing across the floor. But through it all, my mind kept circling back to Allen. To Natasha. To the way they arrived separately but so close together. To the way Allen had looked at her—just for a second—before catching himself.

I shook my head, pushing away the doubts. I wouldn’t let my mind do this to me again. I wouldn’t let the shadows creep back in.

Allen loved me.

Didn’t he?

.

Two weeks later

I hadn’t been feeling well for days. It started with little things—feeling lightheaded when I stood up too quickly, an unusual fatigue that made even getting out of bed feel like a chore, and a sudden, inexplicable nausea that crept up on me at the most inconvenient times. At first, I brushed it off, blaming it on stress, exhaustion, or maybe something I ate. But deep down, there was this gnawing feeling, an instinct whispering something I wasn’t ready to accept.

Then I missed my period.

I counted the days on my phone’s calendar, my fingers trembling as I did the math over and over again, trying to convince myself I’d miscalculated. But no matter how many times I checked, the answer was the same. I was late. My heart pounded in my chest, and for a brief moment, I couldn’t breathe. Not again. I wasn’t ready for this. Not now, not when things were just getting better.

Kyle was two years old. I had finally climbed out of the dark abyss that had swallowed me whole after his birth. My psychosis had faded into the background, my mind was my own again, and for the first time in a long time, I felt normal. The thought of going through it all again—of losing myself, of scaring my son, of breaking Allen’s heart—was suffocating.

I sat on the edge of the bathtub, the pregnancy test clutched tightly in my hands. The two pink lines stared back at me, undeniable proof of what I already knew. My vision blurred with tears. I wasn’t sure if I was crying out of fear, joy, or something in between.

I stayed there for what felt like an eternity before I finally found the strength to stand. I needed to tell Allen. He deserved to know. But how would he react? Would he be happy? Worried? Would he look at me with pity again, like he had in those dark days when I was drowning in my illness?

I wiped my face, took a shaky breath, and walked downstairs where Allen was sitting in the living room, scrolling through his phone. He looked up when he saw me, his face lighting up with a soft smile. “Hey, you okay? You look a little pale.”

I swallowed hard, my fingers tightening around the pregnancy test I had hidden behind my back. “I need to talk to you.”

His brows furrowed in concern, and he immediately put his phone down. “What is it?”

I walked closer, hesitating for a moment before sitting down beside him. My hands were trembling as I pulled the test from behind my back and placed it on the coffee table between us. Allen’s eyes flickered from my face to the test, and I watched as the realization dawned on him.

He stared at it for what felt like forever, his face unreadable. My heart clenched in my chest. I wanted him to say something, anything, but he just sat there, unmoving.

“Allen?” I whispered, my voice barely above a breath.

He exhaled sharply and leaned back against the couch, running a hand through his hair. “You’re pregnant.”

I nodded, my stomach twisting into knots. “I—I don’t know how to feel about it,” I admitted, my voice breaking. “I’m scared, Allen. What if—what if it happens again? What if I lose myself again?”

He turned to me, his eyes filled with something I couldn’t quite place. Guilt? Fear? Love? Maybe all of it. He reached out, taking my hands in his, his grip firm yet gentle. “Corinne,” he said softly. “We’ve been through hell, and we made it. You made it. You are stronger than you think, and we’ll get through this together.”

Tears spilled down my cheeks, and I shook my head. “But what if I can’t handle it? What if—”

He cupped my face, his thumb brushing away my tears. “Then I will. I will handle it, Corinne. I will be here, every step of the way. You’re not alone.”

I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to believe him so badly. But there was still that voice in my head, the one that whispered doubts and fears, the one that reminded me of the nights I hadspent locked in my own mind, unable to differentiate reality from delusion.

“I don’t want to lose you,” I admitted, my voice breaking. “And I don’t want to lose myself.”

Allen pulled me into his arms, holding me tightly against his chest. “You won’t,” he promised. “We’ll take this one step at a time.”

I clung to him, letting his warmth soothe some of the fear clawing at my heart. Maybe he was right. Maybe this time would be different. Maybe this time, I wouldn’t have to fight alone.

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