Chapter 2: Positive
982 Words
Catherine stared at her laptop screen, the blinking cursor matching the dull thud in her temples. A design brief sat untouched in her inbox, but the shapes and colors blurred together, her focus drifting again.
She sighed and pushed the device away, sinking back into the worn cushions of her studio couch. Freelancing used to be her freedom. Now it felt like a tether to a version of herself she couldn’t fully return to not after that night.
It had been almost three weeks, but the memory lingered like perfume on skin. The warmth of his touch. The weight of his gaze. The way he whispered her name like it meant something like she meant something.
And then, just like that, she’d left.
No last glance.
No number.
No name.
She’d told herself it was better that way. Cleaner. Safer.
She didn't even know his last name just Jason. A mistake. A fantasy. Nothing more.
And yet...
Her body hadn’t been the same since.
She tugged her sweater closer around her frame, though the spring afternoon was mild. A faint chill wrapped around her, like memory clinging to her bones. Catherine stood abruptly, hoping movement would snap her out of the strange haze.
She crossed the small apartment to the kitchenette and poured herself a glass of water, pausing to lean against the counter. Her stomach rolled again, the same nauseating wave that had hit her the last three mornings.
Anxiety, she told herself.
Stress.
Or maybe even Guilt.
She had told Rina what happened but not everything. What was there to say anyways?
“I slept with a stranger, and now I can't stop thinking about him, even though I don’t know how to find him?”
Pathetic.
Still, something gnawed at her. Not just the guilt, but a deeper, bone-deep intuition that something inside her had shifted. And not just emotionally.
She hadn’t had her period in almost six weeks.
Her breath caught.
No. That couldn't be right.
Could it?
She moved to her desk, pulled up her cycle tracker on her phone, and blinked at the screen. A small red dot marked the last day she'd logged anything six and a half weeks ago. She never missed cycles. Ever.
The nausea.
The fatigue.
The sore chest.
The way she couldn’t stand the smell of her favorite coffee anymore.
No.
No, no, no.
Her pulse quickened as she backed away from the screen, as if distance could undo what she’d just seen. Her hands trembled as she reached for her bag, digging for her wallet with frantic fingers.
There was a pharmacy three blocks away.
Just in case.
Just to quiet the thought.
The city air felt unusually heavy as Catherine walked, eyes trained ahead but barely seeing. She passed by the cafés and boutiques like a ghost. Her heart beat louder than the world around her, a rhythmic thud that echoed with every step.
The test box felt heavier than it should in her hand, though it weighed less than a paperback. She didn’t make eye contact with the clerk, didn’t wait for a receipt, didn’t breathe until the door closed behind her.
By the time she returned to her apartment, her legs ached and her mind spun. She tossed her keys onto the table, tore the box open with shaking fingers, and locked herself in the bathroom.
Five minutes.
That’s all it would take.
But her world was already shifting, tilting on an invisible axis she couldn’t control. She sat on the closed toilet lid, arms folded around herself, watching the seconds tick by on her phone.
She didn’t cry.
Not yet.
She didn’t let herself hope, either.
Catherine had spent most of her life holding herself together. She knew how to bury dreams before they turned into heartbreak. She knew how to silence her own wants before they ever got loud enough to sting.
But this wasn’t about want.
This was about truth.
And truth didn’t wait for permission.
Her gaze drifted to the bathroom mirror, to the reflection of her pale face and guarded eyes and without meaning to, her thoughts slipped back to that night.
His hands had been rough but gentle, firm but reverent, like he couldn’t quite believe she was real. She remembered the way his lips had skimmed her collarbone, the way he’d murmured her name into her skin, not like it was a name at all, but a promise.
And the look he gave her just before she’d turned away... it hadn’t felt like goodbye.
She blinked hard, forcing the memory down.
It didn’t matter now.
He was gone.
And she might not be alone anymore.
The timer buzzed.
Catherine jolted, her breath caught in her throat. She reached for the test with trembling hands, her grip unsure as she turned it slowly in the light.
Two lines.
Not faint.
Not a maybe.
Not an “almost.”
Positive.
The word struck like a crack of thunder, echoing in her chest.
Pregnant.
She stared at it, expecting it to change. As if staring hard enough might erase it, or make it feel less real.
But it stayed.
Unshakable.
Silent.
Permanent.
A beat passed.
Then another.
Her hand dropped to her stomach, slow and unsure, like her body wasn’t fully hers anymore. The room around her blurred at the edges, the world narrowing to the weight of that single word.
Pregnant.
She whispered it once, as if hearing it aloud would make it less terrifying.
It didn’t.
Her phone buzzed.
Rachel: Still alive under all that freelance chaos? Coffee later? You need a break.
Catherine stared at the message, her hand still resting on her belly.
Coffee.
The thought alone made her stomach twist.
She didn’t respond.
Couldn’t.
Not yet.
Instead, she curled into herself on the cool bathroom tile, her thoughts unraveling like thread.
Nothing would ever be the same again.
- Writer
