Negative Positives

Elise. Monday, February 5th, 2024 I stare at the test, my hand cupped over the tiny window that will reveal the result. I tried to imagine how I would feel if it was positive. Happy? Excited? Terrified? The scariest part would be James' reaction. How would I tell him? I knew he didn't want kids, but we'd been married for six years now. Surely he would... no. I was absolutely sure he would not be okay with this if it was positive. So what would I do? I couldn't keep it secret from him. I'd have to tell him. I felt my chest tighten at the thought. There wouldn't be a way to tell him that would make it easier. He would be angry. He would blame everything on me. He would pitch a massive fit and probably yell and storm out, leaving me guessing as to his whereabouts or when he would return. He'd probably go to his friend Andrē's house and get drunk and come home even angrier. Maybe I was getting worked up over nothing. Maybe it was negative. That would be the best outcome really. Taking a deep breath, I tried to imagine the result being negative. There would be no pressure on our marriage, no need to make changes to my career as a beauty therapist, or reallocate rooms in the house or buy a bigger car or baby clothes or furniture or... Shit. This was so overwhelming! If it was negative then I wouldn't have a baby to provide for or be responsible for... Or to love. A tear rolled down my cheek unbidden. If this was negative, would I ever get the chance to be a mother? I would never be able to convince James to have children. I couldn't go behind his back and get pregnant on purpose. I wasn't that kind of person. If this was negative, I was sure it would break my heart. My tears began before I even lifted my hand, blurring my vision so much that I couldn't see any pink lines at first, my heart thumping in my chest. It was negative. No. Wait. Where were the instructions? What did it mean if the lines were faint? My breath came out in broken sobs as I frantically swiped at the tears blurring my eyes, fumbling with the leaflet and skim reading. "...even if the second line is faint, this is still a positive result..." I gasped, snatching the test up to look at it more closely, not daring to breathe. It was there, faint beside the first line, a second wispy line stared ominously back at me. Two lines. Positive. Oh s**t.