The test on the pharmacy counter confirmed what she'd already known.
She'd known the same way she'd known the first time, seven years ago — not from a symptom exactly but from a specific interior recognition, the body's particular intelligence that predated any test. She'd been right then. She was right now.
She stood at the farmhouse bathroom mirror with the test in her hand and Leonardo in the doorway.
"Yes," she said.
He crossed the room and put his arms around her from behind and they looked at each other in the mirror.
She thought about the first time. The clinic in Cascais, the hormone protocol, the biological machinery of it, the thing that began in the dark of her body six weeks before she knew. The difference between that time and this one was everything — the circumstances,
