Chapter 15
Megan
I’m up when Mason is—four a.m. sharp. He’s still half asleep, sitting on the edge of the bed rubbing his eyes, while I’m pacing the bathroom like a kid on Christmas morning. I barely slept last night. I’ve been waiting for this day for two weeks.
I did the research, read every article, circled the date on my calendar. Today should be the day. Maybe the line will be faint, but it should be there.
When I step out of the bathroom, Mason’s waiting, elbows on his knees, eyes heavy but soft. “What’s it say?”
“You have to give it three minutes.” I sit beside him, the test still face down in the wrapper so I don’t peek early.
He chuckles quietly. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m nervous.”
“Why? This is what we want, right?”
“Yeah,” I say, picking at the corner of the wrapper. “I just…don’t know. I have a weird feeling.”
He reaches over, threading his fingers through mine. “Hey. Whatever it says is fine. Right?”
I nod, even though I can’t quite swallow the lump in my throat. “Yeah. But I hope it’s positive.”
“Me too. But if it’s not, it just wasn’t meant to happen yet.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. I know he’s just trying to prepare me, but I can’t shake the hope sitting heavy in my chest.
The timer dings softly on my phone. I flip the test over. We both lean closer.
There’s only one line.
“Oh.”
“It’s okay,” he says quickly, rubbing my back, like that’ll somehow stop the sting in my chest.
“Yeah,” I manage.
But it’s not okay—not right now. I really thought it would be positive. I tracked everything. Every symptom, every day. I even calculated what month I’d be due if it worked on the first try. Maybe my app was wrong. Maybe I was off by a few days.
“Maybe I’ll test again tomorrow,” I whisper. “Maybe my levels aren’t high enough yet to detect.”
“Yeah, maybe.” He presses a kiss to my forehead before standing. “You’ll drive yourself crazy if you keep staring at it though.”
I smile weakly. “I already am.”
He’s quiet, but he takes it from me and sets it aside. “Come give me a hug,” he says, standing in front of me. I stand and he hugs me tight, arms engulfing me around my head. I don’t cry; it feels silly to cry on the first try. So I don’t.
He leaves for work a few minutes later, utility belt slung over his shoulder, coffee in hand. “Have a good day, okay? I’ll see you tonight.”
“Be safe,” I say from the kitchen, and the door clicks shut behind him, the house now feeling too quiet.
I brush my hair. I remind myself that Mason’s right—we have time. We’re young. We’re new to this. It’ll happen when it’s supposed to.
Still, I can’t help but picture a positive test. A tiny heartbeat. A due date that might have fallen at the end of the school year, giving me a whole summer at home. But it’ll work out however it’s supposed to.
* * *
When I get home that afternoon, the house smells faintly like leftover coffee and quiet—like the morning never fully left. I drop my bag on the counter, slip off my shoes, and tie my hair up, already feeling the weight of the day loosening from my shoulders.
It really was a good day. Sierra and I spent half the afternoon helping each other staple borders and rearrange bulletin boards—the mindless, colorful kind of busy work that lets you breathe a little.
When we ran out of hands, the new teacher down the hall, Trevor, jumped in to help us for a little, holding the ladder and passing up rolls of tape like we’d all been working together for years.
I told Sierra about the test then, but only the bare minimum. She didn’t push, and I didn’t elaborate.
I knew she’d understand—really understand. She’s got two kids now, but she also had a miscarriage and months of trying before her firstborn. She’s been where I am. But somehow that makes me feel even sillier for falling apart this early.
It’s only the first month.
People try for years. Years.
I have no right to feel this heavy. This sad. This…broken.
I push the thought away and head to the kitchen, reaching for the lid of the slow cooker, so I can check on the roast I was so proud of myself for starting before school, already picturing Mason walking in tonight and bragging about it.
But the second I lift the lid, my heart stops.
It’s raw.
Completely raw.
Uncooked, pink, still half frozen, and sitting exactly how it did when I pulled it from the freezer.
“You have got to be kidding me.” The words fall out in a string of breath and disbelief as I let my head drop back toward the ceiling.
The slow cooker light is off.
I never turned it on.
A hopeless little laugh bubbles up—half hysterical, half exhausted—and I press my palms into my eyes, trying to hold back the sting that hits way too quickly.
“Great. Just great,” I mutter to the empty house. “I can’t even cook a roast.”
This was supposed to be dinner for the next two nights. My big responsible-wife moment. Now it’s a pink, uncooked brick sitting in broth.
So I call Maureen. Because if anyone can save this, it’s her.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Maureen.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Quick question—what’s the fastest way to cook a roast?”
There’s a little laugh in her voice already. “Well, that depends, sweetheart. Is it thawed?”
“Yeah, it’s thawed.”
“Mmm. Well, I usually do low and slow. Seven to eight hours in the oven or slow cooker, but if it’s on high it’ll cook faster. That tends to make it tough though.”
Of course. Low and slow. The opposite of what I need right now.
“So…not by tonight?” I look at the clock like it might magically change.
“Probably not,” she says gently.
I close my eyes and let out a sigh that feels too dramatic for a hunk of meat. “You’re gonna laugh at me.”
“Why’s that?” she asks, and I can practically hear her smile.
“I had this thing in the slow cooker since nine this morning, and just realized I never turned it on.”
There’s a beat of silence, and then, “Oh nooo.” She laughs, not mocking, just amused. “That happens to the best of us! You could still make it and save it for sandwiches tomorrow. Throw it on low and shred it in the morning.”
“Okay, yeah, I’ll do that.”
“I’m making chicken parmesan and spaghetti; come up.”
I hesitate. “Are you sure?”
“Of course, sweetheart.”
“Okay, I’ll be there in a few.”
“Great,” she says and we hang up.
I stare at the raw roast again, then glance toward the window where the last bit of daylight is slipping away. I grab my keys and head out the door.
By the time I pull up to the big house, the sun’s setting over the fields, painting everything in a soft orange glow. Maureen’s car is in the drive, but no Leonard.
When I step inside, the smell hits me first—garlic, chicken, tomato sauce. It’s comforting.
“Hey, come in!” Maureen calls from the kitchen. Her smile is immediate when she sees me. “I’m so glad you came! Leonard is helping with something at church tonight.”
“Oh, well, I’m glad to keep you company then.” I shrug with a laugh.
The kitchen feels so different than how it usually is. No loud conversations, no toddlers running around, just the sound of the oven fan and the TV softly playing in the living room.
Maureen hands me a plate and sits across from me. She prays, something short and simple, but there’s this peace to it that I needed.
“I guess Mason’s working late tonight?”
“Yeah,” I say, picking up my fork. “He’s on shift ’til seven.”
She nods, studying me quietly for a moment. “You seem a little…off. Everything alright between you and Mason?”
I sigh. “Yeah, we’re fine. I’m just feeling dumb about the roast, I think.”
She smiles. “You’re not dumb. Ask me how many times I’ve done that.” She tilts her head at me with a laugh.
“Really?” My smile grows.
“Believe me. We’ve had to settle for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on more than one occasion.” She laughs again and I join her before it fades, then I sigh.
“Yeah, well, I guess It’s just been kind of a long day too.”
“Mmm, I’m sure. School’s starting next week; it’s a lot of stuff to get ready,” she says.
For a second, I think about just going along with her idea of it only relating to school, but something about her tone, and the way she looks at me without judgment, just quiet understanding, comforts me.
“We found out this morning that I’m not pregnant,” I blurt out.
Her expression softens instantly. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry.”
I blink, looking away, I don’t want to cry. But the way she’s looking at me, worried, genuinely concerned for how I’m handling it, makes me crack. My fingers find the corners of my eyes to stop the tears from falling.
“I know it’s ridiculous to be disappointed. It’s the first month. I just…hoped we would be.”
“That’s not ridiculous at all. Hope is never ridiculous.”
I swallow hard. “I just, I mean…there are people who try for years.”
She shakes her head gently. “And that doesn’t make your feelings any less. When you want something deeply, your heart doesn’t keep score on how long you’ve been waiting.”
I nod, staring at my plate. “I know. I just…I had this whole picture in my head. Finding out this week, telling everyone, having the timing work out perfect with school. It all felt like it lined up.”
Maureen’s quiet for a moment, then she smiles softly, leaning back in her chair. “Just imagine how much more perfect it will be when it happens, because God’s plan is always perfect. Whether you think it is or not. It’s always better than you could’ve ever thought.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“I want you to believe it. Not just know it.”
I just nod, quickly wiping away the tear on the corner of my eye.
Maureen gets up and walks around the table to hug me, squeezing me against her like I’m one of her own.
“Whatever happens, however it goes, you and Mason have to stay strong and go through it together. Talk about it, pray about it. The enemy hates unity, so he’ll go after your peace, your patience, your hope.
Especially now that you’re married. He’ll try to make you feel small or silly for caring. Don’t let him win that way.”
She pulls away and I nod, wiping the edges of my eyes as she sits back down. “Thank you.”
“Course,” she adds. “Now eat before it gets cold. Crying burns calories.”
I laugh, really laugh, and pick up my fork. And as I take my first bite, the weight I’ve been carrying all day starts to lift.