Chapter 48 The Result That Wouldn’t Come
1051 Words
The bathroom was quiet, lit only by the soft glow of the vanity lights. The unopened pregnancy tests lay on the counter—small, simple objects that somehow felt heavier than anything either of them had ever faced.
Marnie’s hand was in Michael’s, her fingers cold, his thumb tracing slow circles against her skin to soothe the tremble he felt there.
He exhaled softly.
“Whenever you’re ready,” he whispered.
She nodded, but her body didn’t move.
Her legs felt rooted to the marble floor, as if stepping forward would make everything too real too fast.
Michael noticed.
“Marnie,” he murmured, turning toward her, cupping her cheek with a gentleness that broke something inside her, “you don’t have to rush this. We can take our time.”
“But I need to know,” she whispered back. “I just… I don’t know if I’m ready to know.”
His expression softened painfully. “Then we wait. Five minutes. Ten. An hour. I’m not leaving your side.”
Her eyes stung at the warmth in his voice.
“I’m scared,” she breathed.
“I am too.”
He let out a quiet, shaky laugh. “I deliver babies for a living, Marnie. I’ve seen every possible outcome. And yet standing here with you, waiting for this… it’s the first time I’ve ever felt terrified.”
She looked up, surprised. “You?”
He nodded. “Because this isn’t a patient. This is us. You. Our life. Our future. I’ve never cared about something this deeply before.”
Her heart thudded harder.
Before she could speak, Michael leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead, lingering there, his breath steady, anchoring.
“Whatever happens,” he whispered against her skin, “you’re not facing it alone.”
She closed her eyes and inhaled.
She was ready.
Or at least… brave enough to try.
She turned toward the counter and reached for the test.
But before her fingers could grasp the box—
Michael’s phone rang.
Loud. Abrupt.
Violent in the stillness.
Marnie flinched.
Michael stiffened, curses flashing across his eyes. He pulled the phone from his pocket, jaw tightening when he saw the name flashing on the screen.
Hospital.
“It’s the emergency line,” he said under his breath. “They don’t call unless…”
He didn’t finish.
She didn’t need him to.
The meaning was clear.
Duty.
He looked at her—torn, tortured—his thumb brushing over her knuckles again. “I can ignore it,” he said, voice low, desperate. “Just this once. This is more important.”
She shook her head immediately.
“No, Michael. You have to go.”
“Marnie—”
“You’re a doctor,” she said, steadying her voice even as her stomach twisted. “If someone needs you, you go.”
“But this—”
“We’re not running out of time,” she whispered, placing her hand over his heart. “The test will wait. I’ll wait.”
His breath hitched, as if her understanding struck him somewhere vulnerable.
He pulled her into a sudden, tight embrace—strong, warm, full of silent apologies.
“I hate leaving you like this,” he murmured into her hair.
“I know.”
“I’ll come back as fast as I can. I promise.”
She nodded against his chest, then pulled away.
“Go,” she said, giving him the smallest smile she could manage. “I’ll be okay.”
He hesitated for a full three seconds—eyes locked on hers, conflict warring across his face—before finally, reluctantly, he forced himself to turn.
At the doorway, he paused and looked back.
“Marnie?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t take the test alone.”
It was part request, part plea.
Part fear.
She swallowed. “I won’t.”
He held her gaze another beat.
Then he was gone.
The door closed behind him.
Silence After the Storm
The condo felt unbearably empty the moment he left.
The test sat on the bathroom counter, untouched, staring at her like a question with too many answers.
Her body felt alert, restless, buzzing with everything she tried to contain.
She paced once.
Twice.
Stopped.
Her hand drifted to her abdomen again—lightly, gently—where she felt that strange flutter earlier.
Not painful.
Just… different.
Like a tiny whisper of possibility.
“Not yet,” she whispered to the empty room. “Not without him.”
Her voice cracked with something she couldn’t name.
She curled onto the bed, hugging a pillow to her chest, breathing through the tangle of hope and fear twisting inside her.
Minutes passed.
Hours maybe.
Time felt slow, stretched thin by suspense.
She kept checking the door.
Kept checking her phone.
No messages yet.
She wasn’t sure if the dizziness earlier came from her body or her emotions. She only knew one truth:
She wanted him home.
She wanted answers.
And she wanted him beside her for whichever truth waited in that little white box.
Nightfall
The sky outside had turned deep violet when the lock finally clicked.
Marnie sat up instantly.
Michael stepped inside—coat still on, hair a mess, exhaustion etched into every line of his face—but the moment he saw her, everything softened.
He crossed the room in seconds.
“I’m here,” he said, cupping her face with both hands, breathing out a long, shaky exhale. “I’m so sorry it took longer.”
She shook her head. “It’s okay.”
He searched her eyes. “You didn’t take the test?”
She pointed gently at the bathroom.
“No. I promised.”
Something in him visibly relaxed—a deep, quiet relief that made her chest ache.
He pressed his forehead to hers.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
For waiting?
For trusting him?
For letting him be part of the moment?
She didn’t ask.
She just held his hand.
He exhaled, voice low and warm. “Are you ready now?”
Her heartbeat fluttered.
Not fear this time.
Not completely.
Something sweeter.
Something trembling.
“Yes,” she breathed.
Together, they walked into the bathroom again.
And this time, nothing interrupted them.
But still—
- Writer
