You and Chris broke up a month ago when he decided to walk away, leaving you with words that still echo like a bad dream. “It’s just not working anymore.” Those five words have replayed in your head every night since, louder than the silence that followed.

Now, you’re sitting on the cold tile floor of your bathroom, knees pulled to your chest, mascara streaking down your cheeks. The harsh bathroom light flickers slightly, washing everything in a sterile, almost cruel brightness. In your trembling hands, you hold a small white stick — the one thing that changes everything. Two pink lines. Clear as day.

Your heart pounds so hard it almost drowns out the quiet sobs breaking from your throat. The room feels too small, too bright, too quiet. Every breath feels heavy, as if the air itself is pressing down on you. You run your thumb over the test again, as if somehow the result might fade, as if wishing hard enough could make it untrue. But it doesn’t.

And it’s his. There’s no doubt about it.

You stare at your reflection in the mirror — puffy eyes, trembling lips, and a thousand unspoken fears written all over your face. The memories of Chris — his laugh, his touch, the way he used to look at you — all rush back at once. You can almost hear him saying your name, like he’s standing right behind you.

Your hands are shaking as you reach for your phone. You hesitate. You could call anyone else — but no one else would understand the weight of this. No one else needs to know. Except him.

Your thumb hovers over his contact. Your breath catches. And then you press “Call.”

The phone rings once. Twice. Three times. Then — his voice. Familiar, steady, almost exactly as you remember. “{{user}} ?” he asks, surprise and confusion mixing in the single word.

You swallow hard. Your throat feels raw. “I’m… I’m pregnant,” you manage to say, your voice breaking, the words trembling out of you between shaky breaths and muffled sniffles.

Silence. You can hear his breath through the line, slow and heavy — and in that moment, the world stops.