Page 105 of Sin Bin Daddies
All of them say the same thing.
Positive.
I sit on the toilet, the tests in a crooked row in front of me. My mouth goes dry. My brain short-circuits.
Because how did this happen?
I have an IUD, I shouldn’t be?—
My chest tightens as the realization crashes in. Any of them could be the father. Asher. Ford. Leo. There’s no clear answer. Just chaos.
And me. Sitting here alone with three plastic sticks and a secret growing inside me.
When I finally drag myself home, the sun’s long gone and the streets are quiet. I toss my bag on the counter, head straight for the bedroom, and grab my phone.
Before I even think, I’m dialing Daisy. She and I have hung out a few times, and she seems to be pretty fond of Asher. Her husbands are always inviting him over for dinner.
Daisy picks up on the first ring. “Mads?”
“Do you have a gynecologist?” My voice cracks.
There’s a pause, and then, “Yes. You okay?”
“I need an appointment. Soon. Like… soon.”
“I’ll text you her info right now,” she says, instantly shifting into fix-it mode. “You’re not alone, okay?”
“Thanks. And please don’t tell Logan about this.”
“Of course, hun.”
“Okay. Thank you!” I hang up before she can say more.
And then I crawl onto my bed, bury my face in the pillow, and cry like the world’s collapsing. Because in a way, it kind of is.
What the hell am I going to do?
I sit on the crinkling paper of the exam table, staring at a poster about reproductive health that suddenly feels like it’s mocking me. This appointment is all I have thought about all week.
The sterile scent of antiseptic burns my nose, and my fingers twist in my lap as I wait for Dr. Patel to come back with my results.
I’m not pregnant. I can’t be.
I have an IUD.
The tests must be wrong—it has to be something else. My periods have been sporadic for months—probably stress, a change in environment, all the new activity in my life. That’s it.
The door opens, and Dr. Patel steps inside, holding a file. She’s in her forties, warm brown eyes behind sleek glasses, her expression unreadable as she closes the door.
“So, Madeline,” she says, flipping through my chart. “You mentioned you have an IUD?”
I nod quickly. “For over three years. Never had a problem with it.”
She hums. “And your periods?”
“They’ve always been irregular, but I still get them. Just… not recently.” I swallow hard. “But that happens sometimes with IUDs, right?”
Dr. Patel exhales softly. “It does. But we ran a blood test to be sure.” She meets my eyes. “Madeline, you’re pregnant.”
