Page 61 of Certified Pressure 3
From there, everything started moving faster. Invitations were being designed, my bridesmaids, which were mostly Pressure’s family were picking out their dresses, and every time I checked the calendar, another week had flown by. Even though it was exhausting, it felt good being busy, and feeling like everything I wanted was finally falling into place.
Pressure was right there with me through most of it, showing up when I needed him, even though I could tell the endless meetings and fittings were wearing him down. Still, he played his part, sitting through cake tastings and designer calls, pretending to care about napkin textures while he scrolled his phone.
But even with everything going perfect, there was still a piece of me that felt unfinished. That one thing I had wanted for so long but hadn’t been able to hold—a baby.
That thought stayed tucked in the back of my mind even when I tried to push it away.
A few weeks back, I thought I was pregnant. I took a test and waited, watching the screen like my life depended on whatpopped up. When the word“Not Pregnant”showed instead of what I wanted to see, it made me feel empty in a way I couldn’t explain. I wanted to cry, but I didn’t. I just swallowed the shit, and told myself it wasn’t time yet.
Then Pluto announced her pregnancy and that news hit me like a punch to the stomach.
Now, weeks later, I was standing in the middle of the mansion’s bathroom staring at a pregnancy test sitting on the marble counter. I had gone to the store earlier. I threw the test in my basket like it was just another thing to grab, but my heart had been racing the whole time.
When I got back, the house was quiet. Pressure was out handling business, and I was alone. I took the box upstairs, shut the door, and opened it with trembling hands. I followed the instructions, and afterwards, set the test down, and sat on the edge of the tub.
I told myself not to get too hopeful, but deep down, I was praying. My period was late, and I knew what that could mean. I thought about all the nights Pressure and I had been together lately. He always pulled out, but even then I still believed there was a chance I could’ve gotten because mistakes could happen.
The seconds dragged by, and when I finally glanced back at the test, I gasped. There was two red lines. Not one... but two.
For a moment, I just stared. My chest filled with something warm that spread fast. I reached for it, my hands shaking as I picked it up, just to make sure I wasn’t seeing things. This shit was real.
There was two red lines on the stick.
I pressed my hand against my stomach, a slow smile spreading across my face.
Finally…
The word repeated in my head over and over again like a song. Finally, I was pregnant.
The tears came before I even realized it. Not sad ones, but tears of relief, joy, and pride all mixed up together. I laughed a little through them, wiping my eyes as I sat back down on the edge of the tub. My reflection in the mirror looked different now. I looked like a woman who had everything she ever wanted.
The mansion suddenly felt warmer, Ang brighter. I thought about how I would tell Pressure and how his face would look when I told him we were finally about to start a family. I thought about the looks on his parents’ faces, and how Abeni would have no choice but to accept that I wasn’t going anywhere. I wasn’t just his fiancé anymore. I was about to be the mother of his child.
My mind raced with possibilities from the baby showers, the nursery, the outfits, everything. I could see it all already. My baby would have everything, and Pressure would love that child with everything in him because that’s what he does when something belongs to him.
I looked down at the test one more time and smiled so hard it hurt.
Now Pluto had to scoot over because I was pregnant too.
Holloway District Courthouse
As I stood in front of the judge, waiting on her final ruling, my heart was beating fast. My palms were sweaty, and it felt like every breath I took came with the weight of the last month weighing me down. The courtroom was cold, quiet, and filled with the kind of tension that makes you want to close your eyes and pray. My lawyer, Ms. Benton, stood beside me flipping through a thick folder of documents, calm as ever. She had done everything she could for me. All that was left now was for the judge to decide if I was finally about to be granted custody of my little sister.
Ms. Benton had been the Mensah family lawyer for years, and the only reason she was standing beside me now was because of Pressure. From the moment I called him and told him what was going on, he handled everything. He called his family’s lawyer personally and told her to take my case right away. He covered every expense and told her to make sure I had whatever I needed to win. He told her to move quickly and keep me protected through the whole process, even if she had to make some shit up. Every document she filed, every piece of evidence she gathered, every signature she got approved, it all had Pressure written all over it. He made sure that nobody could block me from getting custody of my sister.
For weeks she worked on my case like it was her own life on the line. She filed paperwork, pulled hospital records, and brought in proof of every dollar I had ever spent on Zurie. She even had a record of the forty thousand I used for Zurie’s surgery, which was the same money Pressure had given me. She said it would show financial stability and commitment. There were receipts from pharmacies, and grocery stores, all with my name attached to them. She told me that kind of paper trail could speak louder than any emotional plea.
When the judge started reading through the file, I held my breath. Ms. Benton had a way of speaking that made people listen, and when she addressed the court, she did it with a calm authority that made me proud she was representing me.
“Your Honor,” she said, her tone smooth and respectful, “my client, Ms. Monroe, has been the primary caretaker for her sister, Zurie Monroe, for well over a year. As you can see from the records submitted, Ms. Monroe has provided financially, emotionally, and medically for her sister without assistance from either biological parent.”
The judge nodded slightly and kept flipping through the pages. I watched her eyes move from one piece of evidence to the next. My stomach felt tight, but I stood tall.
Ms. Benton continued, “We’ve included proof of medical care, school enrollment, therapy receipts, and even documentation from Ms. Monroe’s employer verifying her income and stable housing.”
I knew some of what she said wasn’t real, but it didn’t matter. Pressure had made sure the documents looked legitimate. I didn’t ask how he did it. All I knew was that he told me, “Don’t worry about that part, I got you.”
The judge looked up and asked a few questions about Zurie’s health, and Ms. Benton explained her condition in detail. She talked about the surgery and the follow-up appointments, and the judge looked impressed that I had kept up with all of it.
