Tabitha’s POV
The small, white box sits on the bathroom counter, staring back at me like it holds the answers to everything. It’s unassuming, almost mundane in appearance, but right now, it feels like the most important thing in the world. My hands tremble as I reach for it, the plastic crinkling under my grip as I tear it open. Inside are the test, the instructions, everything I need to face the reality I’ve been avoiding.
The air feels thick, heavy with anticipation, and I sit down on the edge of the tub, my body sinking into the cool porcelain. The weight of the situation presses down on me, suffocating, relentless. This is it. This is the moment where everything changes, where the uncertainty that’s been gnawing at me for days either becomes terrifyingly real or fades into nothing.
