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I wanted to do itmyway.
Amidst a moment I’ve all but anticipated for my entire adult life, I should be happy and jumping up and down over this surprise.
But not this way. Not when the gift I prayed for God to give me happened in a way I never could have predicted. Before I had a chance to do it the way I planned.
My stomach turns sour, rocketing my worry to a new height. I lift my head, meeting my tired eyes in the mirror.
All the signs are there. However, I’d spent the last week ignoring them when they became noticeable. Wishing them to be in my head and not my reality.
The exhaustion. The soreness in my breasts. The dire need to bitch out every person who so much as looks at me the wrong way.
I chalked it up to my diet changes, the new vitamins I’ve been taking, and the hormone shots to make sure my progesterone levels are maintained.
With my hand against my chest, I breathe in a heavy sigh, my mind shifting between worry and hope.
Why? Why did it have to happen this way? I don’t have to look down to confirm it. I can feel it in my gut. It’s my own fault for risking it. I knew the risks. I was taught all the precautions as a teenager.
Taught what happens when women who aren’t on birth control have sex. But at the time, all cautionflew out the window. I couldn’t think about anything past the pleasure. Past feeling August at that moment.
Condoms aren’t a sure thing. There’s always a chance of them breaking. I just never imagined it would happen to me.
I hate myself for that.
Now, I’m questioning everything, and I know it comes from fear. Am I really ready for this kind of permanent life change? Ready to be responsible for another person’s life? Ready to co-parent with someone else? It’s one thing to have a dream, but another to see that dream finally come true and realize you may not be cut out for it.
Hell, my inability to resist August that night is enough to convince me I’m not.
It seems I don’t have much of a choice in the matter, because in the palm of my hand is the white stick of truth. The white stick I hid by my side as I scurried through the drugstore, headed straight for the checkout counter.
The same white stick my hands have been cradling without uncovering for five minutes now. Following my appointment with Dr. Travis, I rushed to the drugstore with a one-track mind.
Deep breaths are the only thing keeping my heart rate at bay. I glance down, deciding not to wait any longer, and come face-to-face with my new future.
Two pink lines.
The final confirmation. Not that I didn’t believe Dr. Travis, but I needed to see it for myself. Needed time to believe it, I guess.
I feel my stomach churn and my heart thump like it’s searching for more circulation. I feel like I’m suffocating. I’m not married. Not in any type of serious relationship.
I wanted a baby more than anything. So why? Whyright before I finally decide to take my future into my own hands?
There’s no denying the test is accurate and I am, in fact, pregnant.
I have options. I know this. But I refuse to let my regret paralyze me.
I suck in a sharp breath and tell myself I’ll be okay. If I manifest encouragement, maybe I’ll approach things with a steadier head. I’m capable. I’m strong. Hell, I was born resilient. I’ve been alone most of my adult life—I can handle this and make it something great.
I’m pregnant.I’m not sure how many more times I can tell myself to make it any less true.
A mixture of joy and pure terror rushes through me.This is what I’ve always wanted, I tell myself. I know who the father is.
That’s not even a question. So, there’s a plus.
Good start, Tenley.
But August Graves doesn’t do babies. He barely does animals—at least from what I’ve seen. How can I parent a child with the man I’m wired to avoid at all costs?
Aside from that one night.
