The bathroom was too small for this kind of news.

That was Eddie’s first coherent thought.

Too small, too bright, too early in Hawkins, and definitely not built to contain the emotional damage currently occurring beside the sink.

Four pregnancy tests lay lined up on a folded hand towel like evidence in a court case.

Four.

All positive.

All unmistakably positive.

You stood with your arms crossed, staring down at them as if enough concentration might reverse science itself.

Eddie stood beside you in sleep pants and no shirt, hair wild, one sock on, looking equally stunned.

Nobody had spoken for at least thirty seconds.

Then:

“Well,” he said hoarsely. “That feels… thorough.”

You turned slowly. “You told me to take another one.”

“I meant one more, not… an entire panel.”

“I needed certainty.”

“We have certainty. We have enough certainty for a jury.”

You looked back down at the tests.

Nine weeks.

Nine weeks explained a lot, suddenly.

The exhaustion. The random tears over a dog food commercial. Wanting pickles one day and hating the sight of them the next. The way your jeans had started feeling personal.

And Eddie—sweet, observant, occasionally clueless Eddie—had thought you were just stressed.

“I thought you were mad at me,” he admitted quietly.

You blinked. “What?”

“You were crying in the pantry last week.”

“I was crying because the crackers smelled wrong.”

“Oh.”

A beat.

“That does make more sense.”

You laughed despite yourself, one startled burst of it that turned into something shakier.

His head snapped toward you immediately.

“Hey.”

The joking dropped out of him in an instant.

He stepped closer, hands settling carefully on your arms.

“Hey, hey. You okay?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I think so. I just—”

Your voice caught.

Ramona was three.

The townhome was finally starting to feel manageable.

Money wasn’t abundant.

Life was busy.

And yet beneath the panic there it was too: something bright and startling and impossible to ignore.

Another baby.

Eddie’s expression softened as if he could see every thought crossing your face.

“We don’t have to know everything right this second,” he said gently.

“I know.”

“We’re allowed to just stand here and be freaked out for a minute.”

“I am definitely freaked out.”

“Same.”

You sniffed a laugh.

He kissed your forehead.

Then looked down at the tests again.

“…Four is still excessive.”

“I was spiraling.”

“You were bulk ordering reassurance.”

That got a real laugh out of you.

From down the hall came the thump of little feet.

Both of you froze.

Then Ramona’s voice, loud and sleepy:

“Mamaaa? I waked up!”

Eddie whispered, “Oh my God.”

The footsteps got closer.

You lunged for the tests, sweeping them into the drawer beneath the sink just as the bathroom door swung open.

Ramona stood there clutching a stuffed bat by one wing, curls wild, pajamas twisted sideways.

She looked from your face to Eddie’s face with immediate suspicion.

“Why you in bafroom?”

“No reason,” Eddie said too fast.

“Adult meeting,” you added.

She narrowed her eyes.

“Why Daddy no shirt?”

Eddie glanced down at himself. “Because… fashion?”

She accepted that less than anyone ever had.

Then she pushed between you both and climbed onto the closed toilet lid like it was a throne.

“I hungry.”

“Of course you are,” Eddie muttered.

She peered up at you.

“Mama cry?”

“A little.”

Ramona patted your knee.

“It okay. I cry too.”

Then she pointed at Eddie.

“He make eggs.”

“I always make eggs.”

“You make good eggs.”

He clutched his chest dramatically. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

She slid off the toilet and waddled out again.

“Now.”

Silence returned for half a second.

Then you and Eddie looked at each other.

He exhaled slowly, then smiled—small, nervous, glowing around the edges.

“Well,” he said. “Guess Foreman’s getting promoted.”

Your hand moved unconsciously to your stomach.

He noticed.

Covered it with his own.

Down the hall Ramona was already shouting for Wayne, (Eddie’s uncle turned father figure n grandpa), to wake up and help.