Almost Ex

Chapter Two: Plus Sign

Six weeks felt like six years in a bathroom stall at Pearson Marketing Group. Casey sat fully clothed on the toilet lid, staring at the third pregnancy test she'd taken that morning. The first one she'd convinced herself she'd read wrong. The second one had to be defective. But this one—this one was mocking her with its obvious, undeniable plus sign.

"Casey?" Melissa's voice echoed off the bathroom tiles. "The client meeting starts in ten minutes. Are you okay in there?"

"Fine!" Her voice came out too high, too brittle. "Just... just fixing my makeup. Start without me if I'm late."

She heard her assistant's heels click-clack away and slumped against the stall wall. Her new promotion to VP of Marketing was supposed to be her fresh start, her proof that she could be more than just Drew Thompson's almost-ex-wife. Now, staring at that damned plus sign, she felt sixteen again—scared, uncertain, and completely unprepared for what came next.

Sixteen. God.

The memory hit her like a physical thing: sophomore year, second period English. She'd dropped her pencil, and it had rolled across the aisle. Drew Thompson, who she'd known since elementary school but never really noticed, had picked it up. Their eyes met as he handed it back, and her whole world shifted.

"Here," he'd said, those green eyes crinkling at the corners. "Think you lost something."

She'd meant to say thank you. Instead, what came out was: "Your eyes look like summer."

He'd blinked, surprised, then broken into a slow grin that made her stomach do backflips. "That's... that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said about my eyes."

She'd wanted to die of embarrassment right there, but he'd turned around in his seat between classes and said, "Your laugh sounds like music." And that was it. That was the beginning.

Casey pressed her palms against her eyes until she saw stars. That girl would never have imagined being here, hiding in a corporate bathroom, pregnant with her almost-ex-husband's goodbye baby. That girl had believed in forever.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. A text from her mother: Coming over for dinner tonight. No excuses. Bringing lasagna.

Great. Because what this day needed was her mother's concerned hovering and not-so-subtle questions about whether she was eating enough since the separation.

The nausea hit suddenly, violently. She barely made it to her knees before emptying her breakfast into the toilet. Morning sickness. Of course. Because this was real, this was happening, this wasn't just three defective tests or a bad dream she could wake up from.

"I want a big family," Drew had told her once, lying in the bed of his truck at The Swimming Hole. They were seventeen, planning futures as easily as other kids planned weekend parties. "Like, four kids at least."

"Four?" She'd laughed, poking his ribs. "You planning to carry any of them yourself?"

"Nah, but I'll be there for all of it. Every doctor's appointment, every craving run, every middle-of-the-night crying session."

"The baby's or mine?"

"Both." He'd kissed her temple. "I want everything with you, Casey Mitchell. The whole messy, beautiful thing."

The memory twisted in her gut worse than the morning sickness. They'd been so sure then, so certain that wanting something was the same as being ready for it. Now here she was, ten years later, carrying his child after signing divorce papers. The universe had a sick sense of humor.