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It was early spring when the test turned positive.
Anna stood in their bathroom, barefoot on the cold tiles, the morning light slanting in through the cracked window. The test laying on the edge of the sink, as still as her breath. She didn't move, not at first. Just stared. As if blinking would make it change.
The two lines stared back.
In the kitchen, she could hear the sound of coffee being poured and a gentle hum - Alex humming and whistling an old song his mom used to sing when he was little. It was just like him, really. No matter the time of day or what was going on in the world, Alex was steady. Steady in the way a mountain is steady. Steady like the tide. He was never loud, never rushed. He had this quiet strength that made Anna feel safe even when the world felt jagged.
But now, safety felt far away. Her hands trembled as she gripped the edge of the sink.
This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. They had talked about kids - yes, one day. Not now. Not yet. They were still just figuring things out, paying off debts, building savings, arguing about which shade of blue to paint the guest room. A baby hadn't been on the schedule.
She slid the test into the drawer, tucked beneath a pile of cotton pads and a crumpled receipt. Out of sight. For now.
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That night, Alex made pasta. He always cooked on Fridays, insisting it was the least he could do after Anna spent the week balancing spreadsheets, phone calls, and office drama. She watched him move through the kitchen, sleeves rolled, a wooden spoon in hand.
"Smells amazing," she said, voice tight.
He turned with a grin. "It's my secret weapon. Parmesan and love."
She managed a weak laugh and sat at the table. He brought over the plates, then the wine, and paused with the bottle in hand.
"Or... do you not want any tonight?"
Anna froze.
It was a small thing, his question, asked with the casual kindness that made up so much of Alex. But her stomach twisted. Was she being obvious? Was her face giving her away?
"I—uh—no, I'm good," she said quickly. "Just water tonight."
He nodded, unfazed, and poured her a glass.
They ate, talked shit, talked about work, about the neighbor's new dog that barked too much, and the weekend plans to visit his sister. The conversation moved gently, the way it always did with Alex, and Anna hated how every laugh felt like a lie. Every time he smiled at her, her throat tightened.
Later that night, curled beside him in bed, she watched the ceiling fan spin and counted the seconds between each of his breaths. He was already half-asleep, one hand resting on her hip.
"I'm scared," she whispered, so quietly she wasn't even sure she'd said it out loud.
Alex shifted slightly in his sleep, tightening his hold on her.
She didn't sleep at all.
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