MACEY
I can’t be pregnant.
I can’t be pregnant.
Those words kept spinning in my head like a broken record as I sat there on the examination bed, my legs swinging restlessly off the edge.
My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. I couldn’t look at Damien. I couldn’t even look at the doctor. I just kept whispering the same sentence under my breath, as if repeating it over and over could somehow make it true.
“I can’t be pregnant,” I said again, my voice barely above a whisper.
Damien was standing a few feet away, leaning against the wall with his hands buried in his pockets. His face was unreadable—too calm, too quiet. That scared me more than anything.
“Say something,” I snapped, turning to face him. My voice came out shaky, desperate. “Damien, please. We can
