Chapter 33Avery
Chapter Thirty-Three
Avery
21 years old
I'm sitting on the cold toilet seat, my hands shaking as I stare at the little white stick. Two pink lines. Clear as day. My stomach lurches and I swallow hard, fighting the urge to puke up my lunch.
This can't be happening. Not now.
But it is. I've taken three tests. All positive. There's no denying it anymore.
I'm pregnant.
A knock on the bathroom door makes me jump. "Can you hurry up in there?" Eric's voice drifts through.
I take a shaky breath. "Yeah, I'll be out in a second!"
My mind races. How am I gonna tell him? We can barely afford rent, let alone a baby. My savings account is practically empty and we're way past due on the gallery rent.
Maybe... maybe this is what we need. A wake-up call. Eric's always had his head in the clouds, but a baby? That's real. That's something he can't ignore.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror, my face pale and drawn. "You can do this, Avery," I whisper to myself.
Another knock.
"Coming!" I call out.
I stuff the test deep into the bathroom trash, covering it with tissues. My heart pounds as I open the door, plastering on a smile. "Everything's okay," I say, my voice higher than usual.
Eric nods, distracted. "Good." He brushes past me. "I need to go," he mumbles, closing the door behind him.
Shaking my head, I wander into our living room. The afternoon sun streams through the windows, highlighting the dust motes floating in the air. My eyes land on the mural I've been working on for months.
It's supposed to be us, Eric and me, standing proud in front of our art gallery. A symbol of our dreams, our future. But something's missing.
I've made the gallery, every detail perfect. And there I am, standing at the door. But Eric... his outline is there, but it's empty. Unfinished.
My hand hovers over the blank space where his face should be. "Why can't I finish you?" I whisper, a lump forming in my throat .
I sink onto our worn couch, my eyes never leaving the mural. Is this some kind of sign? Am I subconsciously aware of something I'm not ready to face?
"It's just a mural," I mutter to myself, but the gnawing feeling in my gut tells me it might be more than that.
The toilet flushes and the bathroom door creaks open. I look up. Eric stands there, his face unreadable, holding the pregnancy test.
"Avery, what's this?" he asks, his voice oddly calm.
Panic surges through me. I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. There's no use hiding it from him, but this isn't the way I wanted him to find out. "It's... it's mine. I'm pregnant, Eric."
He doesn't react, doesn't move. His eyes slide past me, fixing on the mural behind me. The silence stretches, thick and heavy between us.
"Eric?" I whisper, desperate for any reaction.
He blinks, focusing on me again. "Pregnant," he repeats, as if tasting the word.
I nod, my hands trembling slightly. "Yeah. We're... we're going to have a baby."
Eric's gaze drifts back to the mural, and I follow it. My eyes land on his arm, where I know the tattoo lies hidden beneath his sleeve. The heart with our names, inked on the day we drove to this city full of dreams and possibilities .
"Remember your tattoo?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. "The one with our names?"
He nods, his expression giving nothing away.
"Maybe..." I start, hope blooming in my chest, "Maybe there's room in that heart for another name now."
Eric runs a hand through his hair, his eyes suddenly darting around the room. "I... I need some air," he says, his voice strained. "This is big news. I just need to process it."
My heart sinks a little, but I nod. "Okay, I understand." I'm used to Eric needing time with big decisions. It's just how he is.
He grabs the keys from the hook by the door. "I won't be long," he says, not quite meeting my eyes.
"Take your time," I reply, forcing a smile. "I'll be here."
The door closes behind him, and I'm left alone with the sound of his car starting up and driving away. I sink onto the couch again, my hand instinctively resting on my still-flat stomach.
Hours tick by. The sun sets, casting long shadows across the living room. I've called Eric's phone six times now, each call going straight to voicemail.
"Where are you?" I whisper to the empty room.
It's dark outside when I see headlights sweep across the wall. My heart leaps. I rush to the window, hope surging through me .
But it's not Eric's car. Just someone using our driveway to turn around.
I collapse back onto the couch, exhaustion and worry washing over me. My eyes start to drift closed, the stress of the day finally catching up with me.
When I wake up, sunlight is streaming through the windows. I bolt upright, my neck stiff from sleeping on the couch.
"Eric?" I call out, my voice hoarse.
But the house is silent. Empty.
And it stays that way. Days pass. Then weeks. Months.
Eric never comes back. Never calls. Never explains.
And just like that, I'm alone, facing a future I never imagined.