CHAPTER 85: HATTIE

CHAPTER 85: HATTIE
“Hattie! You’re alive! I was starting to think you’d fallen off the planet.” A shaky laugh escaped me. “Something like that.” She must’ve heard the strain in my voice because her tone softened immediately. “What’s wrong?” I took a deep breath. “It’s… a lot.” “Then start from the beginning,” she said. “I’ve got time.” So I did. I told her about running into Preston, about the fight, about him showing up at my apartment and everything he’d said—the ring, the plans, the heartbreak. I told her about going to his place that night, about not being able to sleep, about how one thing led to another. By the time I got to the part about waking up and realizing we hadn’t used protection, my voice was trembling. Maisie was quiet for a moment. Then she sighed softly. “Oh, Hattie.” “I know,” I said quickly. “I know it was stupid. I just—” My throat tightened. “I missed him. And for a second, it felt like everything was okay again.” “It’s not stupid,” she said gently. “It’s human. You’ve been through hell together. Of course you still feel something.” I wiped at my eyes, even though I hadn’t realized I was crying. “What if I’m pregnant again, Maisie? I don’t think I can handle that.” “Then we’ll handle it together,” she said firmly. “But don’t spiral yet, okay? You don’t even know. Just breathe.” I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me.

“He said he wouldn’t leave this time.” “Do you believe him?” I hesitated. “I want to.” Maisie’s voice softened. “Then let that be enough for now. You don’t have to decide anything today. Just take care of yourself.” Her words settled over me like a blanket—steady, grounding. “Thank you,” I whispered. “Always,” she said. “And Hattie? Whatever happens, you’re stronger than you think.” When we hung up, I sat there for a long time, staring out the window. The fear was still there, but it wasn’t as sharp.

The next few days passed in a blur. I went through the motions—work, errands, pretending everything was fine—but underneath it all, my nerves were stretched thin. Every small ache, every wave of nausea, every flutter in my stomach made my heart race. By Thursday, I couldn’t take the waiting anymore. I left work early, stopped by the pharmacy, and stood in front of the shelves longer than I should have. The box felt heavy in my hand, heavier than it should for something so small.

Back home, I set it on the bathroom counter and just stared at it. My reflection in the mirror looked pale, tired, older somehow. “Just do it,” I whispered to myself. The minutes that followed felt endless. I sat on the edge of the tub, knees pulled to my chest, counting the seconds, trying not to think about what either answer would mean. When the timer on my phone buzzed, I almost couldn’t look. My hands were shaking as I reached for the test. Negative. The breath I’d been holding escaped in a rush.

Relief hit first—sharp and dizzying—but it was followed by something else, something I didn’t expect. Sadness. I sank back against the wall, closing my eyes. I wasn’t ready for another baby, not after everything that had happened. But part of me had still hoped for… something. A sign. A reason. When I finally stood, I caught sight of myself again in the mirror. My eyes were red, but there was a strange calm there too. I cleaned up, threw the box away, and walked into the living room. The evening light was soft, spilling across the floor. My phone buzzed on the table—Preston’s name lighting up the screen. I hesitated before answering. “Hey,” he said, his voice careful. “How are you?” “I’m okay,” I said quietly. “I took a test.” There was a pause. “And?” “It’s negative.”

He exhaled, the sound full of both relief and something heavier. “Okay.” We sat in silence for a moment, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between us. “I don’t know what happens next,” I admitted. “Then we figure it out,” he said softly. “One step at a time.” After we hung up, I sat there for a long time, watching the light fade. The fear was gone, but the ache remained—an ache for what was, what could’ve been, and what might still be. For the first time, though, it didn’t feel like an ending. It felt like the start of something new—uncertain, fragile, but real. And maybe that was enough.

Luca met me at the café, the same one we’d gone to a dozen times before. He smiled when he saw me, that easy, kind smile that always made me feel safe. But today, my stomach was in knots. We ordered coffee, made small talk, and for a few minutes, I almost convinced myself to pretend everything was fine. But I couldn’t. “Luca,” I said finally, setting my cup down. “I need to be honest with you.” He looked up, concern flickering in his eyes. “Okay.” “I care about you,” I said. “I really do. But I’m not ready for anything more than friendship right now.” He was quiet for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Because of Preston?” I hesitated, then nodded. “Partly. But also because of me. I’m still figuring things out.” He gave a small, understanding smile. “Then I hope you figure them out, Hattie. You deserve to be happy.” The kindness in his voice made my chest ache. When we said goodbye, I felt both lighter and sadder than I expected.

After that, things with Preston started to shift. We weren’t rushing into anything, but we were trying—dinners, walks, quiet nights in. It felt cautious, fragile, but real. For the first time in a long time, I let myself believe that maybe we could rebuild what we’d lost. Then, about a week later, something changed. It started with exhaustion. I brushed it off as stress, but then came the nausea, the chills, the fever that wouldn’t break. By the third day, I could barely keep water down. Preston showed up without me asking. He took one look at me—pale, shaking, curled up on the couch—and his face went tight with worry. “You should’ve called me,” he said, kneeling beside me. “I thought it was just the flu,” I murmured. He pressed a cool hand to my forehead. “You’re burning up.” He stayed the whole night, making sure I drank water, holding my hair back when I got sick again. By morning, I was worse. My lips were dry, my head pounding. “That’s it,” he said firmly. “We’re going to the doctor.”