Page 85 of Porcelain Lies

My fingers press against my still-flat stomach. The morning sickness, the tender breasts, the missed period — it all adds up to one terrifying conclusion.

“You’re pregnant. With Aleksei Tarasov’s baby.”

“Shut up, Boyana!” I hiss.

I manage to get through the rest of the workday on autopilot, my mind racing with possibilities I’m not ready to face. The pharmacy near my apartment feels too close to home — someone might recognize me — so I drive across town.

The fluorescent lights buzz overhead as I stare at the rows of pregnancy tests. I grab three different brands, unable to trust just one result. The middle-aged cashier’s knowing look makes my cheeks burn.

“Paper or plastic?” she asks, and I nearly cry at the normalcy of the question.

“Plastic,” I croak, shoving cash across the counter. The rustling of the bag feels deafening in the quiet store.

The drive home takes forever, each red light an eternity. I keep checking my phone, hoping Hannah will be home early, but her text confirms she’s working late on a case.

Our apartment feels too quiet when I unlock the door. The bathroom light flickers as I set the tests on the counter, their cheerful pink packaging mocking me.

I pick up one box, reading the instructions three times before setting it back down. The thought of doing this alone makes my chest tight.

“I can’t,” I whisper to my reflection. “Not tonight.”

I leave the tests lined up on the bathroom counter like little soldiers and crawl into bed fully dressed. Sleep feels impossible, but I can’t face those plastic sticks right now. Morning will come soon enough.

But I’m wrong.

The ceiling becomes a movie screen for my racing thoughts as I lie there, each minute dragging by like molasses. Even Boyana stays quiet tonight, leaving me alone with my fears. Sleep takes forever to come.

The next morning, my pulse feels like it’s thundering as I stare at the plastic stick on the bathroom counter. Two lines. Clear as day. The second test shows the same result. So does the third.

“Breathe, Stell.” Hannah’s arm wraps around my shoulders, steadying me as my knees threaten to give out. “Just breathe.”

“I can’t be pregnant.” The words come out in a whisper. “This isn’t… I’m not…”

“Here, sit down before you fall down.” Hannah guides me to the closed toilet lid. She crouches in front of me, her bright red curls falling into her face as she takes my trembling hands in hers. “Talk to me.”

“What am I going to do?” My voice cracks. “I can’t have a baby. Not now. Not with everything that’s happened.”

“First, we’re going to make you an appointment with Dr. Reynolds to confirm.” Hannah’s practical tone anchors me. “Then we’ll figure out your options. You don’t have to decide anything right this second.” She squeezes my hand. “You’re sure it’s his?” Her lips pinch together. “This Tarasov guy?”

Hannah had flipped out when I’d told her that the guy I’d had the one-night-stand with was a notorious Russian mobster, but she seems to have recovered from the shock.

“I can’t tell him.” The words tumble out before I can stop them. “He’s dangerous, Han. The things Nick told me about him…”

“Hey.” Hannah squeezes my hands. “One step at a time, okay? Right now, let’s just focus on getting you to a doctor.”

I nod, clinging to her steady presence like a lifeline. She’s right — I need medical confirmation before I spiral completely. But as I stare at those two pink lines, I know in my gut that the tests aren’t wrong.

“I’ll call Dr. Reynolds right now.” Hannah pulls out her phone. “She usually keeps some emergency slots open.”

I sit numbly as she goes through the motions of booking me an appointment.

How can this be happening?

“Three o’clock this afternoon,” she says as she ends the call.

I swallow hard. “God, my boss is going to be so pissed.” I rub my eyes with one hand. “I’m on thin ice as it is with all the time I’ve taken off lately.”

“It’ll be alright, Stell,” Hannah plays the voice of reason.

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