Chapter 22 Emily
EMILY
One week earlier…
“Idon’t understand,” I admitted, dumbfounded. “H-how did this happen?” The doctor gave me a sympathetic look before responding.
“The new migraine medicine they started you on can decrease the effectiveness of your birth control. Your doctor should’ve warned you about that so you could take extra precautions.”
My migraine medicine? Son of a bitch. The daily pill I’d been on for only a few months had done wonders to prevent the migraines I’d suffered with since I was a teenager. I should’ve known it was too good to be true.
“We did. We used a condom every time,” I told her, searching my memory for a time we hadn’t, but I came up blank. We were always careful.
“Condoms are only ninety-eight percent effective even when used perfectly. They can slip off. They can break, especially if they’re old or exposed to too much friction or heat and moisture.”
They can break.
Too much heat and moisture.
“Shit,” I said under my breath, then winced. Probably needed to stop cussing if I was going to bring a child into the world. My gaze snapped to my doctor expecting to find reproach, but instead there was a curious tilt to her brow.
“Remember something?” she asked.
“We had a condom break the first night we were together. We were in the shower,” I admitted sheepishly.
“That’ll do it,” she said, as if that explained everything.
“But I had a period after that. How can I be this far along?” She’d said the baby was measuring around nine weeks gestation.
My period wasn’t that late. When I’d taken that home pregnancy test, I’d hoped my suspicions were unfounded.
Normally, I wouldn’t have jumped the gun so quickly, but my cycle was like clockwork.
Plus my boobs were swollen and achy, and the smell of my morning coffee made me want to barf.
“Was it lighter than usual and only lasted a day or two?” she asked, and I nodded. “Was your cramping a lot milder than your typical period?”
“I barely had any.” I just assumed the lighter period and fewer cramps meant the birth control I'd switched to six months ago was finally reaching its full effects, but clearly I was wrong.
“What you experienced wasn’t a period. It was implantation bleeding.
” Sympathy filled her eyes at my dumbfounded expression.
“This isn’t uncommon. As many as one in four women have implantation bleeding and many of them mistake it for a light period.
” That made me feel marginally better. It wasn’t like I was a complete imbecile who didn’t understand her own body.
I’d felt like a damn fool for not realizing I was pregnant for two months.
Now I just had to figure out how to tell Donovan the news while he prepares to move nearly six hundred miles away.
Now here I was, watching as all the color drained from his face and his mouth fell open in shock. He didn’t move or speak for several long seconds. Hell, I wasn’t sure he was even breathing.
“I’m sorry,” I croaked, guilt spearing me through the chest. I’d assured him everything was fine when that condom broke and he started to freak out. I promised I had this covered. And I'd failed.
My shaky voice snapped him out of it, and he reached for me, pulling me to his chest and wrapping his strong arms around me.
“How?” he asked, his voice hoarse and thick with strain.
“That first night,” I began, sniffling as tears streamed down my cheeks. “When the condom broke.”
“But you’re on birth control. Did you miss—”
“No,” I answered quickly. I’d assured him I never missed a dose, and that was true.
“I take migraine medicine. I hadn’t been on it long and wasn’t aware it made birth control less effective.
” I was tempted to write my doctor a strongly worded letter after this for not warning me what could happen.
“That combined with the broken condom created the perfect storm, and voila, pregnant,” I said, trying to inject some poorly timed humor into the moment and failed miserably.
“Shit, Emily, I-I don’t know what to say.
” Donovan ran a soothing hand over my hair as he held me close.
I wasn’t sure what I expected his reaction to be, but this wasn’t it.
He didn’t seem angry or scared, just taken off guard.
He was way calmer than I was, at least on the outside.
With my cheek pressed against his chest, I could hear the rapid pulse beating against his ribs.
“I’m sorry,” I repeated, and he gripped my arms, gently pulling me away. He dipped his head, forcing me to meet his gaze.
“Hey, there’s nothing to be sorry for. This isn’t your fault. These circumstances were out of our control.” His kindness and understanding only made me cry harder.
“Here, let’s sit down,” he instructed, guiding me to the living room.
I sank down on his couch, and he sat next to me.
He was close but not quite touching, and I instantly missed the feel of his strong body engulfing me in warmth and comfort.
I wanted him to reach out and touch me, to pull me into his arms again or hold my hand.
Instead, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together.
He stared at the floor, clearly fighting whatever emotions threatened to take hold.
After a moment, he lifted his worried gaze, and his dark eyes searched mine.
His throat bobbed with a heavy swallow before he spoke again.
“Are you keeping it?”
I nodded, and he let out a relieved breath. He studied his hands for a moment, deep in thought.
“I know this is shit timing and you didn’t ask for this. I didn’t come here with any expectations.” His head snapped up, and his gaze turned stormy.
“You didn’t ask for this either. We’re both responsible here. Don’t think for a single second that I’m going to let you do this alone.”
“But you’re leaving,” I reminded him. He stood and scrubbed a hand over his face, crossing to the table where a stack of papers lay. He leaned over them, his eyes scanning the contents.
“I know,” he said, shaking his head. “We’ll figure something out.”