Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
india
Eight weeks later
I'm late, I’m two months late.
I’ve known for three days that I’m late; it's taken me this long to do something about it. I’ve been telling myself it's from stress, the cold weather, and the fact that I've added another fifty chickens to my coops.
I’ve been telling myself a lot of things it could be, but none of them make the knot in my stomach go away.
It's been eight weeks since Cage left my cabin before I woke without a word.
Eight weeks of silence, eight weeks of pretending that night didn't matter.
I haven't seen him, haven't heard from him.
The one time his truck drove past while I was at Ma's, I ducked into the bathroom and stayed there until Rosie came looking for me.
But now, staring at the pregnancy test in my hand, I wish she had asked. I wish someone had forced me to talk about it so I wouldn't be standing here alone in my bathroom at seven in the morning trying not to throw up.
Two lines, I’m pregnant.
I set the test on the counter and back away from it like it might explode. This can't be happening, we used protection, I watched him put the condom on. This shouldn't be possible.
But apparently possible and probable are two different things.
I sit on the edge of the bathtub and put my head in my hands. What the hell am I going to do?
I can't be pregnant. I live alone in a cabin with chickens. I'm twenty-nine years old and single and the father of this baby made it very clear he wanted one night and nothing more.
My phone buzzes. A text from June.
June: You okay? You've seemed off lately.
I stare at the message, and type and delete three different responses before settling on:
Me: I'm fine. Just tired.
It's not entirely a lie, I am tired, I’m exhausted, actually. I thought it was from working more with the new chickens along with the uptake in sales once I started my store online, but now I wonder if it's something else, something growing inside me.
I look at the test again. There’s still two lines, I’m still pregnant. I grab it and shove it in the trash, burying it under tissues and toilet paper like hiding the evidence will make it less real.
It doesn't work.
I take a shower, get dressed, and force myself to eat toast even though my stomach is churning. The chickens need feeding, the garden needs winterizing, life keeps moving whether I'm ready or not.
Outside, the air is sharp and cold. Snow fell overnight, covering everything in a fresh layer of white. It's beautiful.
I feel like I'm going to throw up.
The chickens cluck at me when I open their coop. My rooster, the one who likes to fight my boots, charges at me as usual. I sidestep him automatically.
"Not today," I tell him. "I've got bigger problems than you."
He pecks at my boot anyway.
I scatter feed and fill their water, moving through the routine on autopilot. My mind is spinning, trying to process what this means.
A baby. I'm going to have a baby, Cage's baby. The man who disappeared after one night and hasn't looked back.
I finish with the chickens and stand in the yard, staring up at the ridge. His cabin is up there somewhere, five miles away. He might as well be on another planet.
I should tell him, he has a right to know. But what if he doesn't want to know? What if he tells me to deal with it on my own? What if he thinks I'm trying to trap him or force him into something he made very clear he didn't want?
What if he's angry?
What if he doesn't care at all?
That last thought is the one that makes my chest tight.
I go back inside and try to figure out what comes next.
I need to see a doctor, to confirm the pregnancy, and make sure everything is okay.
The closest OB is Dr. Merritt, and he's practically a town institution, there's no way I can see him without the entire town knowing by sunset.
Unless I drive to the next town over. Grand Falls is an hour away, big enough that I might actually have some privacy. I grab my phone and search for clinics, I manage to find one that takes walk-ins, and they're open until five.
I could go today and get it confirmed and figure out my options before I talk to anyone.
Before I talk to Cage.
I'm halfway to my truck when I realize I'm shaking, I lean against the door and take a breath, then another.
I can do this, I've done hard things before.
I moved across the country after my engagement fell apart.
I started over in a town where I barely knew anyone anymore, I was no longer a little girl that was born here, I built a life here from nothing.
I can handle this, even if I have no idea how.
The drive to Grand Falls is quiet, I keep the radio off, needing the silence to think. The mountains rise on both sides of the highway. I try not to think about Cage, about that night, about the way he looked at me when he thought I was asleep.
I saw him, just for a second before I closed my eyes again. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, already dressed, staring at me like he was memorizing my face, then he left, and I haven't seen him since.
The clinic is in a strip mall next to a grocery store. I park and sit in my truck for five minutes, gathering courage. Inside, the waiting room is empty. A bored receptionist hands me a clipboard of forms, and I fill them out with shaking hands.
Date of last period? Eight weeks ago, give or take. Sexual partners in the last six months? One.
The nurse calls my name twenty minutes later. She takes my vitals, asks questions that I already filled out in the form the bored receptionist gave me, and then she gives me a cup for a urine sample.
"The doctor will be in shortly," she says with a smile.
I sit on the exam table and wait. The doctor is a woman in her fifties with kind eyes, she reviews my chart, asks more questions, and does an exam.
"Well," she says finally. "The test is positive. Based on your dates, I'd say you're about eight weeks along."
Eight weeks, two months. A tiny cluster of cells that's going to become a person.
"Are you okay?" the doctor asks.
"I don't know."
"That's a fair answer." She pulls up a stool and sits. "Do you have questions?"
I have a thousand questions. "What happens now?"
"That depends on what you want to happen. You have options. We can discuss all of them if you'd like."
I nod, and she walks me through it. Keeping the baby, adoption, termination. She's matter-of-fact about all of it, non-judgmental, just presenting information.
"I need to think," I say when she's done.
"Of course. Take all the time you need." She hands me a folder of pamphlets. "These have more information. And here's a prescription for prenatal vitamins, just in case. No pressure. Just options."
I take the folder and leave in a daze.
In the truck, I sit with the folder in my lap and stare at the grocery store across the parking lot. A woman comes out pushing a cart with a toddler in the seat. The kid is bundled up in a puffy coat, laughing at something.
I try to picture myself like that. With a child, with a real, living, breathing person who depends on me for everything.
The image won't come. Not because I don't want it, but because I can't see it alone.
And I am alone.
I drive home slowly, stopping at a gas station for water and crackers because my stomach is still unsettled. The woman at the counter makes small talk about the weather, and I smile and nod like I'm not falling apart inside.
By the time I pull into my driveway, it's almost dark. The cabin looks small and lonely, smoke rising from the chimney where I left the fire burning low.
Inside, I collapse on the couch and finally let myself cry.
Not big, dramatic sobs. Just quiet tears that leak out because I don't have the energy to hold them back anymore.
I'm pregnant. With Cage Brody's baby. And I have no idea what to do about it.
My phone buzzes. A text from Rosie.
Rosie: You coming to trivia tonight?
I forgot about trivia. Risky Quizness versus Smarty Pints. It's been on the calendar for weeks.
Me: Not feeling great. I think I'm coming down with something.
Rosie: The flu? June had it bad.
Me: Maybe. Going to rest.
Rosie: Feel better. Let me know if you need anything.
I set the phone down and stare at the ceiling.
I should tell someone, Rosie or June, someone who can help me think this through.
But every time I try to form the words in my head, they stick in my throat, because telling someone makes it real. And I'm not ready for it to be real yet.
The days blur together after that. I work on getting the orders ready to be collected and sent out, I feed the chickens, and sit by the fire.
I take the prenatal vitamins even though I haven't decided anything yet.
I read the pamphlets the doctor gave me.
I make lists of pros and cons that I immediately throw away.
I avoid people as much as possible.
But Iron Peak is small, and avoiding people forever isn't an option.
A week after the doctor's appointment, I'm at The Ridge having lunch when Ma sits down across from me without asking.
"You've been scarce," she says.
"I've been busy."
"Busy hiding."
I look up from my soup. "I'm not hiding."
"Child, I've known you since you were twelve years old. I know hiding when I see it." She leans forward, her voice gentler. "What's going on?"
"Nothing."
"India."
"I'm fine, Ma. Really."
She studies me with those sharp eyes that miss nothing. "You've lost weight, you look tired, and you barely touched that soup."
"I've had a bug."
"For two weeks?"
"It's lingering."
She doesn't believe me, I can tell. But she doesn't push, she just pats my hand and stands.
"If you need anything," she says. "Anything at all. You know where to find me."
"I know. Thank you."
She heads back to the kitchen, and I sit there feeling like the world's worst liar.
Two days later, I'm at my stall at the market when June corners me.
"Okay," she says. "What's really going on?"
"What do you mean?"
"You've been weird for weeks. Distant. You keep making excuses not to hang out. And at trivia last week, Rosie said you bailed because you were sick, but Ma said she saw you at The Ridge the next day."
"I was feeling better."
"India." June's voice is soft but firm. "Talk to me."
I want to. God, I want to tell her everything. But the words won't come.
"I'm just tired," I say finally. "That's all."
June doesn't look convinced, but she lets it go. "Okay. But I'm here. Whenever you're ready."
I nod and go back to shelving, blinking away tears.
That night, I sit in my cabin with the lights off, staring at the fire.
I can't keep doing this. Can't keep pretending everything is fine when it's not. Can't keep avoiding the reality that I'm pregnant and I need to make decisions.
I need to tell Cage.
He has a right to know. Even if he doesn't want to be involved, even if he tells me to deal with it alone, he deserves to know he's going to be a father.
Or that he could be, if I decide to keep it.
The thought of driving up to his cabin terrifies me. What if he's angry? What if he slams the door in my face? What if he tells me it's my problem and I should have been more careful?
But I can't hide from this forever.
I pull out my phone and stare at the blank screen.
I don't have his number. Never got it. That night was supposed to be temporary, forgettable. We didn't exchange numbers or make plans because there were no plans to make.
One night. That was the deal.
Except now there's more than one night. Now there's eight weeks and a positive pregnancy test and decisions that affect more than just me.
I set the phone down and take a breath.
Tomorrow. I'll go tomorrow.
I'll drive up to his cabin and tell him face to face because that's the right thing to do.
Even if it's the hardest thing I've ever done.
I don't sleep that night. I lie in bed and watch the shadows move across the ceiling and try to imagine what I'm going to say.
Hi Cage. Remember that one night we agreed meant nothing? Well, surprise. No. Too flippant.
I need to talk to you about something important. Too vague.
I'm pregnant. It's yours. Too blunt.
By the time the sun comes up, I still don't have the right words.
But it doesn't matter. Because as I'm making coffee, there's a knock at my door.
I freeze.
It's early. Too early for visitors, and no one comes out here without calling first.
The knock comes again. Firmer this time.
I set down my mug and walk to the door, my heart pounding.
When I open it, Cage is standing on my porch.
He looks the same. Dark hair, intense eyes, broad shoulders under his canvas jacket. But there's something different about his expression. Something harder.
"We need to talk," he says.
My stomach drops. "About what?"
His eyes scan my face, and I see it. Recognition and understanding.
He knows.
"You know why I'm here," he says quietly.
And just like that, the decision is made for me.