The fluorescent lights in the ER bathroom felt harsher than usual—too bright, too exposing—like they could see straight through you. The steady hum of the hospital outside bled faintly through the walls, monitors beeping, distant voices calling orders, life continuing like nothing had just shifted beneath your feet.

Your hands trembled as you stared down at the small plastic stick resting on the edge of the sink.

Two pink lines.

Not faint. Not questionable. Just… there.

Positive.

Your breath hitched, chest tightening as if the air had suddenly thinned. You gripped the counter, knuckles whitening, trying to steady yourself. Okay… okay… Your mind scrambled, thoughts colliding into each other faster than you could make sense of them.

Jack.

The name alone made your heart twist in a completely different way. Jack, with his steady voice and soft smiles just meant for you. Jack, who always made everything feel grounded, safe. Jack, who looked at you like you were the best thing in his life.

We’re not ready. Are we ready? Oh my god—

A shaky laugh bubbled up before you could stop it, quickly turning into something closer to a sob. You slapped a hand over your mouth, eyes burning as you tried to hold it together.

“Okay,” you whispered to yourself, voice uneven. “You’re fine. This is fine. People have babies all the time. Totally normal. Super normal—”

Your reflection stared back at you, pale and wide-eyed, clearly not convinced.

Your stomach flipped as a million what-ifs flooded in. Your career. Long shifts. Sleepless nights. Jack’s reaction. Would he be happy? Terrified? Both? Would this change everything between you?

A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it.

You swiped it away quickly, shaking your head. “Don’t cry. Don’t cry, don’t cry—”

The bathroom door suddenly swung open.

You startled, quickly turning away, but not fast enough.

“Oh—” Dana’s voice cut through the silence, soft but surprised. “Hey… I didn’t know anyone was in here.”

You froze, shoulders tensing as you tried to compose yourself, but your reflection in the mirror betrayed you—glossy eyes, flushed face, and the unmistakable panic written all over you.

Dana’s footsteps slowed, her expression shifting almost instantly from casual to concerned. “Hey… what’s wrong?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out at first. Your throat felt tight, words stuck somewhere between fear and disbelief.

“I—” Your voice cracked, and you swallowed hard. “I just—”

Dana’s gaze dropped to the counter.

To the test.

To the two unmistakable lines.

Her eyes widened slightly, then softened as realization set in. She looked back up at you, concern melting into something gentler, steadier.

“Oh,” she said quietly.

That single word broke whatever fragile composure you had left.

Your breath hitched again as you let out a shaky exhale, hands gripping the sink like it was the only thing keeping you upright. “I didn’t—I didn’t expect it to actually be positive,” you admitted, voice trembling. “I just… I thought—maybe I was overreacting or something.”

Dana stepped closer, her presence calm, grounding. “Hey,” she said softly. “It’s okay.”

You let out a weak, almost disbelieving laugh, shaking your head. “Is it? Because I feel like I’m about to pass out.”

She gave you a small, reassuring smile. “That’s a pretty normal reaction.”

Your eyes flickered back to the test, then away just as quickly, like looking at it too long might make it even more real.

“I don’t even know how to tell Jack,” you whispered.

Dana didn’t answer right away. Instead, she gently rested a hand on your arm, steady and warm.

“Well,” she said after a moment, voice soft but certain, “we’ll figure it out. You don’t have to do this alone, okay?”

Your chest tightened again—but this time, it wasn’t just panic.

It was everything.

And for the first time since seeing those two pink lines, you let yourself breathe.