Chapter Twenty-Six #2
“He’ll self-destruct anyway, so you might as well go with it, rip off the band-aid kind of situation.”
“I’ll think about it when I run out of options. How was it with you? Any encouraging stories when you shared the news about Talia? Anything I can steal with pride?”
“Hmm… Not sure you can share how I waited for my husband in ungodly kinky red underwear with the test hidden behind my garter. He thought it was a COVID test and panicked, so not much pride here. Also, it might be hard to edit this to your needs.”
“At least it came from a place of love.” The wind kicked up a little, and my ponytail lifted, then settled again.
“Yours did too, on your end.”
“I always thought I’d need everything to be perfect, you know: a plan, a partner. Stability, finances, trust, and love. A compass. But now…” I swallowed. “Not sure I’d call it a mistake, didn’t feel like it at the time, but avoidable and heavy, because I know Paul won’t lift this.”
Mia nodded. “You’re allowed to let it be all.
All at once, all the feels. Especially since your body will be doing random things, you won’t be able to control it.
We had Talia when we were nineteen. What did we know?
Nothing—no plan, no husband, just a pair of teenage lunatics.
Anyway, now we’ll be looking for the version of yourself that can carry this and a support system to help you with the load.
We need to tell your dad and Adam, in a way that they don’t decide to kill young Chinaski.
Have you thought about reaching out to your mom? ”
That landed. My fingers stopped moving, my shoulders, just slightly, loosened.
“Mom? I miss her every day, especially lately. I miss her hugs and how she sang at the kitchen table. I can feel she was behind the one behind the photo mystery ruse, but still, she hasn’t reached out to us for the past seven years, not even after my crash, or when Adam landed in the hospital with three missing teeth after a hockey game.
Funny how absence becomes normal when it’s consistent enough.
I know Dad has been writing letters to her every month, hopelessly in love with her still. ”
“Okay, I’m making a mental note of that. This seems like a pivotal moment no mom would want to miss. And I’m certain your dad and Adam will love you to bits, maybe even more than usual. So what’s the plan for the next hour, two, five?”
“I still have some work to finish for Tom. I might go for a walk later,” I said. “Let it settle. And then sleep, I’m constantly tired.”
“You want company?”
“No. But maybe check in around five. Just in case.”
I turned toward the door, then paused and glanced down at the bag Mia had brought. I opened it, looked inside, and gave the slightest shake of my head.
“Rooibos,” I said. “And folic acid.”
Then, with a hint of a smile: “You always know.”
“Wouldn’t be me otherwise.”
Vancouver Island felt different than other places in the Pacific Northwest when seasons were shifting and you weren’t rushing anywhere.
Nature dictates the mood and what is possible, not people.
I walked without purpose for the first time in weeks: no errands, no meetings, no Mia filling the silence.
No apartment on Bruce Avenue, no eyes looking at me like a storm reaching the shore.
Just my boots hitting the pavement in an even rhythm, like a metronome for thoughts I was struggling to compose yet.
By the time I reached the harbour, the late afternoon light had thinned into that soft, silver glow Nanaimo saved for its quieter hours. The kind of light that didn’t demand anything.
By the old lighthouse, I found a bench facing the water, empty, as if it had been waiting for me specifically.
The breeze lifted single strands of hair from my ponytail, cooler now, brushing against my neck.
A cargo ship moved slowly in the distance; the last seaplanes were taking off, bound for Vancouver.
I folded my hands in my lap, my thumbs pressing together until the tips went white.
Pregnant. The word didn’t feel like mine. Instead, it felt like a word that belonged to someone in a different story: someone excited, joyful, or devastated. I wasn’t any of those things. I was… suspended, like I’d stepped off a ledge but hadn’t hit the ground yet.
A seagull dove too fast and corrected itself mid-air.
I watched it, wondering what instinct felt like when it actually worked in your favor.
Five tests should’ve been enough, but I knew myself too well: I needed more than plastic sticks and faint lines—I needed something official.
A number, a chart, something that could make this feel less like a secret I was keeping from my own body.
Maybe it would hit me then, feel more real.
And then there was Paul. The man I fell in love with so deeply, I never read the signs, the man so easy to fall in love with.
But now I didn’t even have the energy to be angry with him anymore.
I wasn’t sitting here rehearsing speeches or fantasizing about a happily ever after or revenge.
I was just… sad. Sad that our story ended this way: not with closure or redemption, but with consequences.
A single thought crossed my mind then: that maybe I didn’t need to tell him.
That I could protect him from, well… him.
Let him chase his happiness, however he defined it.
That he wouldn’t care enough to do the math, and I would be fine.
But that’s a lie, isn’t it? I knew I’d tell him once I became sure.
Not because I wanted to or because I thought he’d rise to the occasion, but because I couldn’t live with being the person who stayed silent when the truth mattered.
I didn’t owe him my heart anymore, but I owed both of us honesty and a right to make a choice together. Just that.
The wind picked up, carrying the scent of salt and rain.
Somewhere behind me, a cyclist’s bell rang, life going on seamlessly.
I closed my eyes for a moment, breathing it in the crystal clear air.
Tomorrow, I’d call the clinic, get the confirmation I didn’t need, but couldn’t do without.
And after that… I’d tell him. Somehow. Just because it was the right thing to do.