Page 168 of Power Play
It starts with Sophie throwing up.
Not once. Not twice. We’re talking a solid week of early morning retching and dramatic declarations about being poisoned by last night’s takeaway. I make her toast. She glares at me like I personally betrayed her taste buds. She’s moody, tired, and inexplicably obsessed with salt and vinegar crisps.
Then comes the moment. The capital-M moment.
I find her in the bathroom one morning, sitting on the edge of the tub, holding something in both hands.
A pregnancy test.
Two lines.
She looks up at me with eyes the size of dinner plates. “So... fun story.”
I blink. “Are we…?”
“Apparently.”
And then, because we’re us she says, “Is it weird that I want more toast?”
I laugh. A little too hard. She throws the stick at me.
SOPHIE
This is not how I thought this chapter of our life would go.
We had plans. Or at least vague outlines. I was going to maybe start freelancing full-time. Murphy was supposed to finally tackle that bookshelf we abandoned. There was going to be travel. Late nights. Spontaneity.
Instead, I’m sitting in our tiny bathroom, cold tile against my thighs, watching two pink lines turn my world upside down.
Pregnant. I’m pregnant.
Murphy doesn’t freak out. Doesn’t even flinch. He just blinks at the test like it personally insulted his intelligence, then crouches down and says, “We’re okay, yeah?”
And somehow, we are.
Because when you’ve been broken open and stitched back together by someone, surprise pregnancies don’t feel quite as terrifying. Just unexpected. And kind of hilarious.
We spend the rest of the day lying on the sofa in shock. I Google baby fruit sizes. He watches a documentary on sleep training as if it might prepare him for combat.
“Did you know newborns can cry for five hours straight?” he says, horrified.
“Did you know they’re basically blind when they’re born?” I counter.
We look at each other, panic rising, and simultaneously say, “We’re so screwed.”
But we’re smiling.
MURPHY
Three weeks later, we’re at our first scan.
Sophie crushes my hand as though she’s trying to break every bone, and I pretend it doesn’t hurt. I’m not sure which one of us is more anxious. But then the image flickers on screen.
Tiny. Blobby. Undeniably real.
A heartbeat.
Fast. Fierce. Alive.
