And Just Like That

Twenty

The morning light slipped gently through the curtains of Johnny's room, spilling across the messy floor — kit bag half-zipped, boots still muddy from training, a folded Ireland jacket on the chair. The air smelled faintly of his aftershave and her shampoo — that familiar mix that meant home.

Éabha sat on the edge of the bathtub, elbows on her knees, hands trembling slightly.
The pregnancy test lay beside her.
Two lines. Clear as day.

She'd taken it before dawn, when the house was still silent, just to stop her heart from racing with what ifs.
And now the world was different. Completely, terrifyingly different.

She pressed a hand to her stomach, though there was nothing to feel yet — no change, no shape. Just a truth that pulsed quietly beneath her palm.

Six weeks.
Six weeks, and she hadn't known.
Six weeks by counting from her last period anyway.

She exhaled shakily, eyes burning. "Jesus..." she whispered.

There was a knock at the door — light, familiar.
"E? You in there?"

Johnny's voice. Still soft with sleep.

Éabha froze. "Yeah," she called quickly, voice higher than usual. "Just a second."

She scrambled to hide the test in her pocket, flushed the toilet just to make noise, and splashed cold water on her face. Her reflection looked pale and scared and far too young for what was happening.

When she opened the door, Johnny was leaning against the wall in his training hoodie, hair messy, duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He smiled when he saw her.

"Morning, sleepyhead," he teased. "You okay? You look a bit..." He tilted his head. "...off."

Her heart squeezed at the word. The same word she'd used that night at the campfire.
She forced a small smile. "Didn't sleep great, that's all."

He stepped closer, thumb brushing under her chin. "You sure?"

"Yeah," she breathed. "I'm fine. Just... tired."

⸻

Downstairs, the house hummed with quiet life — the kettle boiling, Edel moving about the kitchen, pretending not to be emotional. Today was the day he flew to France with the U20 squad. A whole month away.

He ate breakfast half-heartedly, his nerves a mix of excitement and guilt — he didn't like leaving her, even for this. He caught her watching him more than once, that unreadable expression on her face. He tried to make her laugh, to keep the morning light, but something in her had gone quiet.

When his mum went out to the car to double-check the luggage, Éabha turned to him, twisting her hands.

"Johnny," she said softly.

He looked up, toast forgotten. "Yeah?"

She hesitated. The words were there — heavy, urgent — I'm pregnant. But her throat closed around them. He was glowing, proud, finally stepping into everything he'd worked for. How could she tell him now, seconds before he left?

"Nothing," she said instead. "Just... be safe, okay?"

He frowned slightly. "That all?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

He reached out, pulling her into his arms, holding her tight. "I'll be back before you know it. You'll probably get sick of me texting every five minutes."

"I could never get sick of you," she whispered against his chest.

He laughed quietly, but when he looked down at her, her eyes were wet.