Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Antonella
Three tests.
Three confirmations that my life just changed forever.
I sit on the edge of the bathtub in my bathroom, staring at the plastic sticks lined up on the counter like evidence at a crime scene. The fluorescent light hums overhead. Somewhere in the house, Lily is laughing at something. Normal sounds. Normal life.
Nothing about this moment is normal.
Kristen stands by the door. She hasn't said a word since the third test came back positive. Just watches me with those grey-blue eyes that see too much.
I appreciate the silence.
I don't know what I'd say if she asked me how I feel.
How do I feel?
I don't know.
My hand moves to my stomach. Flat. Unchanged.
Bruno's baby.
Our baby.
The thought sends a jolt through me. Not quite fear. Not quite joy. Something in between. Something I can't name.
At St. Catherine's, I spend hours with the children. Reading to them. Playing with them. Watching their faces light up when someone pays attention to them. Every time I leave, I think about how much I'd love to have kids someday.
Someday.
Not now.
Not three months into an arranged marriage to a man who spent the first weeks refusing to look at me.
I pick up one of the tests. The pink line is dark. Unmistakable. No room for doubt or denial.
"Antonella."
Kristen's voice is soft. Careful.
I look up at her.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
Do I?
I don't know what I'd say.
I'm pregnant.
I'm pregnant with Bruno's child.
What will he think?
What will he feel?
I don't even know if Bruno wants kids.
What if he doesn't?
What if this pregnancy is the thing that finally breaks whatever fragile connection we've built?
What if he looks at me and sees a trap instead of a gift?
My chest tightens.
If he sees this as a burden—
If he pushes me away like he pushed away everyone else—
Then I'll leave.
The thought crystallizes in my mind with surprising clarity.
I'll leave.
I won't stay where I'm not wanted. I won't raise a child in a house where they're resented. I won't become my mother, sacrificing everything for a man who can't see her value.
I love Bruno.
And I'm carrying his child.
And I have no idea how he'll react.
"I don't know how to feel," I say finally.
Kristen moves closer. Sits on the edge of the tub beside me.
"That's okay."
"Is it?"
"When I found out I was pregnant with Lily..." She pauses. "I was terrified. I didn't know if I was ready. Didn't know if Jack was ready. Didn't know if bringing a child into that marriage was the right thing to do."
I look at her. She rarely talks about her ex-husband. About the life she had before she came here.
"What did you do?"
"I cried for three days." A small, sad smile. "Then I decided that no matter what happened with Jack, I would love that baby. I would protect her. I would give her everything I had."
"And Jack?"
The smile fades.
"Jack was Jack. But Lily..." Her voice softens. "Lily is the best thing that ever happened to me. Whatever else went wrong, I got her. And that makes everything worth it."
I look down at the test in my hand.
A baby.
My baby.
Bruno's baby.
"What if he doesn't want it?"
The question comes out small. Scared.
Kristen doesn't answer right away.
"Bruno is..." She chooses her words carefully. "Complicated. Damaged. Difficult."
"I know."
"But I've seen the way he looks at you, Antonella. I've seen the way he is when you're in the room. He's different with you. Softer. More human."
"That doesn't mean he wants a baby."
"No. It doesn't." She reaches over and squeezes my hand. "But you won't know until you tell him."
Tell him.
The thought makes my stomach lurch.
Or maybe that's the morning sickness.
"I need to think," I say. "I need to figure out what I want before I talk to him."
"What do you want?"
I close my eyes.
What do I want?
I want Bruno to hold me and tell me everything will be okay.
I want him to be happy about this.
I want to see his face light up the way it does when Lily climbs into his lap.
I want to build a family with him.
I want—
I want so many things I'm afraid to name.
"I don't know," I whisper.
Kristen squeezes my hand again.
"You don't have to know right now. You don't have to decide anything today."
"Decide what?"
Bruno's voice cuts through the bathroom like a blade.
I jump.
My hand sweeps the tests off the counter in one panicked motion. They clatter into the sink. I spin around, pressing my back against the vanity, blocking the evidence with my body.
Bruno sits in the doorway, his wheelchair filling the frame. His dark eyes move from my face to Kristen's to the sink behind me.
He saw.
He definitely saw.
"What are you hiding?"
His voice is calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that comes before a storm.
My heart pounds against my ribs. Blood rushes in my ears. I can feel the plastic sticks pressing against my lower back where I'm leaning against the counter.
"Nothing."
The lie tastes bitter on my tongue.
Bruno's jaw tightens.
"Antonella."
Just my name. A warning. A demand.
I look at Kristen. She's frozen by the bathtub, her grey-blue eyes wide, clearly unsure whether to stay or go.
"Can you give us a moment?"
My voice comes out steadier than I feel.
Kristen nods. She moves toward the door, and Bruno wheels backward just enough to let her pass. His eyes never leave my face. Not for a second.
The door clicks shut behind her.
Silence.
Bruno and I stare at each other across the small bathroom. The fluorescent light buzzes overhead. My pulse throbs in my throat.
"Show me."
Two words. Quiet. Absolute.
I don't move.
"Whatever you're hiding behind your back." His hands grip the armrests of his wheelchair. Knuckles white. "Show me. Now."
Slowly, I turn around.
My hands shake as I reach into the sink. The tests are scattered across the white porcelain.
I gather them in my palm.
Turn back to face him.
And hold them out.
Bruno goes still.
Completely, utterly still.
His eyes fix on the tests in my hand.
"What the fuck."
The words come out flat. Hollow.
I can't read his face.
I can't read anything.
He just stares at the tests like they're written in a language he doesn't understand.
"Bruno—"
"What the fuck."
He says it again. Same tone. Same emptiness.
My hand trembles. The tests rattle against each other.
"I just found out," I say. "Ten minutes ago. I was going to tell you, I just—I needed a moment to—"
"You're pregnant."
Not a question.
A statement.
I nod.
Bruno's chest rises. Falls. His hands grip the armrests so hard I hear the leather creak.
"You're pregnant," he repeats. "With my—"
He stops.
Swallows.
His Adam's apple bobs in his throat.
"With my baby."
"Yes."
The word hangs in the air between us.
Bruno doesn't move.
Doesn't speak.
Just sits there in his wheelchair, staring at the tests in my outstretched hand like I've just handed him a live grenade.
Seconds pass.
Ten.
Twenty.
The silence stretches until I can't bear it anymore.
"Say something," I whisper. "Please. Say anything."
Bruno
There must be a God.
That's the first coherent thought that forms in my mind.
There must be a God, and He has the most twisted sense of humor in the universe.
Because this—
This is fucking hilarious.
Me.
Bruno Sartori.
The broken one in the wheelchair.
The man who can barely stand for sixty seconds.
The man who spent two years convinced he was half a corpse.
A father.
I'm going to be a father.
My vision blurs. Something hot and wet pricks at the corners of my eyes.
No.
I shove it down.
Not now.
Not ever.
I don't cry.
So I push the moisture back. Swallow the lump in my throat. Force my face into something that isn't complete devastation.
But my hands won't stop shaking.
And my chest won't stop aching.
And Antonella is standing there with three pregnancy tests in her trembling palm, looking at me like I'm about to destroy her world.
"This is crazy," I say.
The words come out rough. Broken.
And then—
I laugh.
The sound surprises me. It bubbles up from somewhere deep in my chest, somewhere I thought had died two years ago in that church. It's not a bitter laugh. Not a cruel one. It's genuine. Shocked. Almost hysterical.
"This is absolutely fucking crazy."
Antonella's face changes.
Pure, overwhelming relief.
She exhales.
A shaky, trembling breath that seems to empty her entire body.
"You're laughing," she says.
"I'm laughing."
"Why are you laughing?"
"Because—" I shake my head. Run a hand over my face. "Because the universe has a sick sense of humor. Because some months ago I was lying in a hospital bed praying to die, and now—"
I stop.
Look at her.
"Now I'm going to be a father," I finish.
The word feels foreign on my tongue.
Father.
Me.
"You're not angry?"
Her voice is small. Uncertain.
I frown.
"Why would I be angry?"
"I don't know." She looks down at the tests in her hand. "I thought—I was scared you might—"
She stops.
Bites her lip.
That fucking lip.
"Scared I might what?"
"See it as a trap." The words come out in a rush. "Or a burden. Or something you didn't want. I thought you might push me away again. I thought—"
"Antonella."
She stops talking.
Looks up at me.
"Come here."
She doesn't move.
"I said come here."
Slowly, she crosses the small bathroom. Stops in front of my wheelchair.
She was terrified.
Not of the pregnancy.
Of my reaction.
She stood in this bathroom, holding proof that she's carrying my child, and her first thought was that I might reject her. Push her away. See her as a problem to be solved rather than a gift to be treasured.
What kind of monster does she think I am?
What kind of monster am I?
"I'm an asshole," I say.
She looks up.
"Yes," she agrees. "You are."
"I've been cruel to you."
"Sometimes."
"I've given you every reason to think I would react badly to this."
She nods.
I reach out.
Take her hand.
Pull her closer until she's standing between my knees, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to look at her face.
"I'm not angry," I say. "I'm not going to push you away. I'm not going to see this as a trap or a burden or anything other than what it is."
"What is it?"
The question hangs in the air.
I think about the answer.
Really think about it.
What is this?
A baby.
My baby.
Our baby.
A tiny life growing inside the woman I—
The woman I what?
The woman I care about.
The woman I can't stop thinking about.
The woman who makes me feel alive for the first time in two years.
The woman I—
"A miracle," I say.
The word surprises me.
But it's true.
"This is a miracle, Antonella. I don't know how it happened. I don't know why it happened. But you're carrying my child, and that's—"
My voice cracks.
Fuck.
I clear my throat.
"That's the most incredible thing anyone has ever given me."
Her eyes fill with tears.
"Really?"
"Really."
"You want this? You want the baby?"
"I want you." The words come out before I can stop them. "I want you, and I want this baby, and I want—"
I stop.
Breathe.
"I want everything, Antonella. I want things I don't know how to name. I want things I'm terrified to ask for. But I want them with you."
A tear slides down her cheek.
Then another.
She's crying.
And smiling.
And looking at me like I've just given her the world.
"You're crying," I say.
"Happy tears."
"Is that a thing?"
"Yes, Bruno." She laughs through her tears. "That's a thing."