CHAPTER 67: HATTIE
My mind raced backward—through the days, the weeks, the blur of everything that had happened. “Oh,” I whispered. Preston’s eyes widened slightly. “Oh.” We just stared at each other for a long moment, the realization settling between us like a weight neither of us knew how to lift. I pressed a hand to my stomach, my pulse thudding in my ears. “No. It can’t be.” He reached for my hand, his voice gentle. “It could be.” I shook my head, trying to breathe. “Preston, this can’t—” He squeezed my hand. “Hey. Don’t panic. We don’t know anything yet.” But the look in his eyes told me he was thinking the same thing I was. The smell. The nausea. The timing. I leaned my head back against the wall, closing my eyes.
“This isn’t happening.” He sat beside me, his shoulder brushing mine. “If it is… we’ll figure it out.” I turned to look at him, searching his face for fear, for regret—but all I saw was quiet determination. “You’re not mad?” I asked softly. He shook his head. “No. Just… surprised.” I let out a shaky laugh. “That makes two of us.” We sat there in silence for a while, the sound of the rain starting up again outside. Everything had changed in an instant. And deep down, I knew—whatever came next, nothing would ever be the same again.
The rain hadn’t stopped. It drummed softly against the windows, a steady rhythm that filled the silence between us. I sat on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, still trying to process what had just happened. Preston stood by the door, keys in hand, his expression unreadable. “I’ll go,” he said quietly. “You shouldn’t have to.” I nodded, my voice barely a whisper. “Okay.” He hesitated for a second, then leaned down and kissed my forehead. “I’ll be right back.
When the door closed behind him, the house felt impossibly still. I stared at the rain streaking down the glass, my thoughts spinning in a hundred directions. Pregnant. The word didn’t even feel real. It hovered in my mind like something fragile and impossible. I tried to tell myself it was just stress, or bad food, or anything else. But deep down, I already knew. By the time Preston’s truck pulled back into the driveway, my hands were shaking. He came in, damp from the rain, holding a small paper bag. He didn’t say anything—just set it on the counter and sat beside me. “You ready?” he asked softly. I nodded, though I wasn’t sure I was. We walked down the hall together, the sound of the rain following us.
My heart was pounding so hard I could barely breathe. In the bathroom, I took the box from his hands, my fingers trembling as I opened it. The instructions blurred in front of me, but Preston was calm, steady. He read them out loud, his voice low and even, grounding me. When it was done, I set the test on the counter and stepped back, my stomach twisting. “Now we wait,” he said quietly. I nodded, leaning against the wall. The minutes stretched endlessly, the silence thick with everything we weren’t saying. Preston reached for my hand, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. “Whatever it says,” he murmured, “we’ll handle it. Together.” I looked up at him, my throat tight. “You mean that?” He nodded. “I do.” The timer on my phone buzzed, sharp and sudden. My breath caught. Preston glanced at me. “You want me to look?” I shook my head. “No. I’ll do it.” I stepped forward, my heart hammering, and picked up the test. Two lines. For a second, I couldn’t move. The world seemed to tilt, the sound of the rain fading into nothing. Preston’s voice was quiet. “Hattie?” I turned to him, my eyes wide, my voice barely a whisper. “It’s positive.” He froze, the words hanging between us. Then he exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “Okay.” I laughed softly, though it came out shaky. “Okay? That’s all you’ve got?” He smiled faintly, stepping closer. “I’m just… trying to catch up.”
I pressed a hand to my stomach, still in disbelief. “I can’t believe this.” He reached out, his hand covering mine. “We’ll figure it out,” he said again, his voice steady. “One step at a time.” Tears stung my eyes, but I nodded. “Yeah. One step at a time.” We stood there in the quiet, the rain still falling outside, the test lying on the counter between us—small, simple, and life-changing. Everything had shifted. And for the first time since that night, I didn’t feel scared. I just felt… certain.
The week passed slower than any I could remember. After Preston left for Chicago, the house felt too quiet again. I tried to keep busy—editing photos, cleaning, even repainting the porch railing—but every night, I found myself staring at my phone, waiting for his name to light up the screen. He called every evening, his voice warm and steady through the static. We didn’t talk much about the baby yet. It was too new, too fragile. Instead, we talked about small things—his meetings, the weather, what I’d made for dinner. But underneath it all, the truth hummed quietly between us.