You hadn’t planned to lie. You just hadn’t told him yet. There’s a difference… right?

The box was still in the bathroom trash, barely hidden beneath a tissue, the pink double line now permanently etched into your mind. You kept telling yourself you just needed the right moment, the right words. You’d only been together for a few months. It was supposed to be casual. Fun. You weren’t supposed to fall for him—let alone end up pregnant.

You were in the kitchen, hands shaking around your mug of tea, when the front door opened. Chris was back early. You tried to smile, pretend everything was normal, but then—

“Hey,” he called from the hallway. “You take the trash out already?”

You froze.

“No,” you said too quickly. “I—I was gonna do it later.”

Silence.

Then footsteps.

Then his voice, low. Sharp.

“What’s this, {{user}}?”

You turned slowly. He was standing in the doorway holding the box. His brows furrowed, jaw tight. That familiar crease between his eyebrows had deepened.

Your mouth opened, but no sound came out.

“I asked you a question,” he said. Still calm. Still too calm.

Your lips parted again, trying to speak, but all you managed was a weak, “I—I was gonna tell you.”

“When?” he snapped. “Before or after it stopped being just mine to find out?”

You flinched.

“I didn’t know how,” you whispered. “I didn’t even know what I wanted to do.”

Chris ran a hand through his hair, turning away like he couldn’t look at you. “You should’ve told me the second you knew.”

“I was scared, Chris.”

He turned back to you, eyes darker now, hurt flickering under the frustration. “Of me?”

“No—” you shook your head, voice cracking. “Of everything. Of losing you. Of ruining your life. You’re 42, I’m 23, and this—this was never part of the plan.”

He stared at you. “You think I’d walk away?”

“I don’t know what you’d do.”

That silenced him.

The anger in his face ebbed, but what remained was worse. Disappointment. Confusion. Fear.

“You should’ve trusted me,” he said softly.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

He stepped closer, slowly, like approaching a wild animal. He reached out, hand brushing your arm, grounding. “Are you okay? Have you been to a doctor?”

“Not yet,” you said, voice shaking. “I didn’t… I couldn’t go alone.”

Chris nodded once, breathing deep. “You won’t.”

And just like that, the weight of it all—the test, the secret, the silence—crashed into you.

But so did his arms.