Chapter 71: Seventy One

Being in bed for three long days and eating shit and drinking too much wine had made me sick.

The nausea came out of nowhere, though. It was sudden and unprecedented. One moment I was scrolling through my notes, trying to force myself to focus, and the next, my stomach was twisting like I had had some bad seafood. Maybe I had.

I barely made it to the bathroom before I was doubled over, emptying my guts into the toilet.

I sat back on my heels, breath ragged, cold sweat beading along my forehead. This had to be stress; exams, the RAship, Mara breathing down my neck, the sleepless nights and too much caffeine. My body was probably just giving up on me.

I rinsed my mouth and wandered into the kitchen on shaky legs. Maybe food would help. I ordered sushi, my usual comfort meal, thinking some familiar flavors would settle me. But two bites into my spicy tuna roll, my stomach revolted violently.

I barely made it back to the bathroom.

The second wave left me shaking, my throat raw, tears streaming hot and uncontrollable down my face. I collapsed against the cool tile, my cheek pressed to the floor.

Stress. It’s just stress.

But an ugly, insistent thought pushed through the haze, something I’d been too busy, too distracted, to really register.

I fumbled for my phone with trembling hands, swiping open my period tracking app.

The cutely designed graphs blinked up at me, all cheerful and normal as I counted the days once. Twice. Three times.

Late.

A full week late.

“No,” I whispered, voice cracking. I tapped back, double-checking the previous cycle, hoping for an error, a miscalculation. The numbers didn’t change. My heart lurched against my ribs.

I sat there frozen, fingers tightening painfully around my phone.

A memory flickered in my head; Declan’s warm breath against my skin, his voice a husky whisper. You make it impossible to stay away from you.

My stomach clenched.

I forced myself upright, heart pounding, grabbed my hoodie and wallet, and slipped into my sneakers.

The pharmacy was a blur of harsh white lights and overflowing shelves. I guess they had just restocked. I headed straight for the aisle. The hushed voices of the other people around me felt so loud. My hand shot out automatically, fingers closing around a box before I could really process it.

“Willow?”

Her voice shook me from my daze, it crept over my spine, sickly sweet.

I froze.

Mara stood a few feet away, a bag hooked casually over one arm, her perfectly lined eyes sweeping over me with lazy precision.

“You okay?” she asked, her lips curving in a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “You look pale.”

I tried to swallow, my mouth felt so dry. “I’m fine,” I said, my voice shaking despite my best effort.

Her gaze dipped to the box in my hand, recognition sparking in her expression before she schooled it into something softer, more knowing. “Oh…” she breathed, dragging out the word like she was savoring it. “I hope everything’s… alright.”

Something about the way she said it made my stomach lurch harder than the sushi had.

“I…yeah. Just not feeling well,” I muttered, shoving past her. Her laughter followed me to the register, light and airy and laced with poison.

By the time I got home, my hands were trembling so badly I dropped my keys twice before managing to unlock the door.

Inside, I leaned back against it, the harsh silence pressing in on me. The pregnancy test box felt like it weighed ten pounds in my hand.

I ripped it open, the cardboard tearing shabbily under my fingers, and followed the instructions mechanically, barely registering the words.

Then I sat, perched on the closed toilet, staring at the little window on the wall as though my sheer willpower could change the outcome.

I think I knew the result before I even took the test.

I had this feeling inside me. I just knew.

One line appeared.

Relief washed over me.

And then it withered instantly as a second line came into view, faint at first but deepening with every blink.

Two lines.

Positive.

My breath caught in my throat.

I stared at the test, willing the result to change, to disappear, to mean something else. Anything else.

“No,” I whispered, the word tearing itself from me. “No, no, no…”

But the lines remained, immutable, two pale pink slashes against the white plastic.

The room tilted.

I gripped the edge of the sink to keep myself upright, but my knees buckled anyway, and I slid to the floor, the test clattering beside me.

Pregnant.

I was pregnant.

The reality hit like a freight train, knocking the air out of my lungs.

A sob tore out of me, raw and choking. But no tears.

I wrapped my arms around myself, rocking slightly, the tremors shaking me apart. My phone buzzed on the counter, Declan’s name lighting up the screen. My heart clenched so hard it hurt.

I couldn’t answer.

Not like this.

Not when the ground had just crumbled beneath my feet.

The phone buzzed again, the sound slicing through the silence of the bathroom. I pressed my forehead to my knees, tears soaking through the fabric of my hoodie.

Everything felt like it was unraveling; my plans, my careful balancing act, my future.

Mara’s smirk flashed in my mind again, her taunting, syrupy voice: I hope everything’s okay.

A fresh wave of nausea rolled through me. I barely made it to the toilet before I was heaving again, my body rebelling as if it, too, couldn’t handle the truth.

When the spasms finally subsided, I slumped against the wall, utterly spent.

The test lay on the floor next to me, its two light pink lines glaring up at me, a verdict I couldn’t unsee. A verdict that would change my life forever.

And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t just feel scared.

I felt completely and utterly alone.