I woke up to the sound of the shower. The events of last night came rushing back, making my face flush with a heat that wasn't entirely from the fever of the pregnancy. I felt physically wrecked but emotionally numb.
The first wave of nausea hit me before I could even sit up. I clamped my hand over my mouth, eyes watering, praying to every god I didn't believe in that Luther wouldn't walk out of the bathroom at that exact moment. I focused on my breathing, counting to ten, until the bile receded just enough for me to move.
I scrambled to the top shelf of the dressing room, my fingers fumbling with the box. I swallowed the pill dry, the bitterness scraping my throat.
Today is the day, I thought, leaning my forehead against the cool mahogany.
Luther emerged from the bathroom, a towe
