Beatrice.
I couldn't sleep.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Doctor Rosa's face when she'd confirmed what my body had been screaming at me for weeks. Saw the test strip with its two damning pink lines. Saw the future I'd been trying to outrun catching up to me in the form of a cluster of cells no bigger than a poppy seed.
Adrian's baby.
The words circled in my head like vultures, picking apart every plan I'd made, every identity I'd built, every mile I'd put between myself and Chicago.
None of it mattered now.
Biology didn't care about fake names or forged documents or how far you ran. Biology had its own agenda, and mine was rewriting itself from the inside out.
Morning light filtered through the thin curtains, painting my bedroom in shades of gold that felt obscene. Like the uni
