Chapter 32
TWO LINES
The crinkling sound of the paper beneath her thighs was the only thing breaking the silence.
Sabine sat on the exam table, hands tucked between her knees, eyes fixed on the outdated poster across the room about iron deficiency in women.
Fatigue. Dizziness. Shortness of breath.
Check, check, check. She knew her body. It had to be her iron again.
“It’s probably nothing,” she’d told herself when she scheduled the appointment. Just work stress. Lack of sleep. Hormones, maybe but when she nearly fainted walking up her own stairs, she’d stopped brushing it off.
She’d been anemic before. Knew the slow, dragging exhaustion of low iron like the back of her hand.
But this? This was different. It wasn’t just tired, like something inside her was shifting in ways she didn’t have the words for yet.
She told herself it was her iron because that was easier than admitting what she already suspected because deep down…
she knew this feeling. The feeling that came after letting her husband—ex-husband, have his way with no boundaries.
The doctor returned with a clipboard in hand, face unreadable. Sabine straightened, heart skipping. “We ran your labs,” he said gently. “Your iron is a little low, but that’s not the main cause of your symptoms.”
“It’s not?” Sabine frowned.
“You’re pregnant,” the doctor smiled softly. The word landed like a slap and a whisper all at once.
“I’m…I’m what?”
“Pregnant. Just a few weeks along, based on the hormone levels. We’ll confirm with an ultrasound next time, but the blood test was conclusive.”
Two lines.
That was all it ever took.
Sabine’s throat tightened. The room was suddenly too bright. She hadn’t been pregnant since Ariyah and even though her hands stayed still and her face didn’t move, something deep in her chest began to shake.
The doctor kept talking, something about vitamins, follow-up appointments, all the routine things a woman might need to hear when she’s expecting but Sabine couldn’t process anything over the rushing in her ears.
All she could think about was the last time.
The hospital.
The blood.
The tiny body she never got to take home.
Sabine clutched the edge of the table, breath shallow. Not again. God, not again. She didn’t even know if this was a blessing or a storm rolling in. All she knew was that something had just changed. Again. And this time, she didn’t know how to feel.
She didn’t remember checking out. Didn’t remember how she got from the exam room to the parking lot or what route her feet took down the hallway. Her keys were in her hand. Her purse on her shoulder. Somehow, she made it to the car.
Sabine sank into the driver’s seat and just…sat there. Hands limp in her lap. Engine off. Window cracked. The sky was too blue. The world too loud. Somewhere nearby, a child was crying, and the sound burrowed into her chest like a dull knife.
Pregnant.
The word clanged inside her, heavy and foreign. It felt like it didn’t belong in her mouth anymore. Like it had once been sacred and sweet, but now...it came with trauma and an ache that lived in her bones. She rested her head back and closed her eyes.
Then her phone lit up on the passenger seat.
Adair.
She stared at the screen as it buzzed, her chest tightening. He was probably checking in. Maybe already outside Dr. Pie’s office waiting for her. Maybe just wanting to hear her voice.
The phone went silent, then started ringing again almost immediately. This time, she picked up.
“Hey,” she said, voice small and quieter than she meant.
“You good baby?” his voice was gentle, but alert. “I just wanted to check in. You still good for Pie at three?”
They’d been good lately. Better than good. Since the night they’d let themselves fall into each other again, something had shifted—for real this time. They hadn’t had any deep conversations about living together or what came next, but he hadn’t left. Not really.
Adair had been at the house every night.
Helping with dinner. Folding laundry. Waking up to Ade’s feet in his back and their son?
He was glowing. Lit up from the inside like a little boy finally getting the thing he didn’t know how to ask for.
His parents. Together. In the same kitchen. At the same breakfast table.
They dropped him off at school side by side. Adair walked Sabine to the train afterward, coffee in her hand, the city ride less grueling when she wasn’t white-knuckling traffic.
It felt like family again. Like hope.
And now this.
A baby.
Sabine blinked against the sun on the windshield. It felt like cold water had been poured over all the warmth she’d finally let herself feel. She was terrified. Not of him. Not even of them.
Just…of what loss could mean this time.
Sabine swallowed. Her hand found her stomach on instinct and then pulled away just as fast.
“I’m…I’m good,” she lied, looking out the windshield at nothing. “Yeah. I’ll be there.”
“You sure?” he hesitated. “You sound—”
“I’ll tell you when I see you,” she cut in. “It’s not something I wanna say over the phone.”
That gave him pause. “Okay,” he said finally. “You want me to come get you?”
“No. I just need a minute. I’ll meet you there.”
Another pause. Longer this time. Then: “Alright. I’ll be there.”
They hung up, and Sabine sat there for a long time after, phone still in her hand, her breath finally beginning to steady. She didn’t know what she was going to say. Or how. But she knew it had to come out. With Pie there. With someone else in the room to help her through this.
Then she turned the key in the ignition—
And drove toward the session that might change everything. Again.
Sabine pulled into the parking lot outside Dr. Pie’s office, her hands stiff on the wheel.
She sat for a second, watching him already standing there—Adair, leaned against his car, mid-conversation on the phone.
His free hand rubbed the back of his neck, his suit jacket unbuttoned, like he’d rushed from work and still managed to make it look easy.
Even from the safety of her seat, she could read his body language—tense but trying not to be. Focused, but distracted.
And then…he saw her.
Adair turned fully, eyes locking with hers across the lot. He stopped talking mid-sentence and pulled the phone from his ear, barely giving whoever was on the other end a chance to say goodbye before he hung up. No explanation. No hesitation. Just…her.
In three long strides, he was at her driver-side door, already pulling the handle before she could process it. “Hey,” he murmured, reaching in gently and helping her unbuckle like she was something delicate. She was.
Sabine opened her mouth to say something—anything—but the moment she felt him remove her from the car then his arms around her; it was like a dam inside her cracked open.
Her body folded into his without resistance, and the tears came hard and fast, catching even her off guard.
She buried her face in his chest, her fingers fisting the fabric of his shirt as she let it all go—the fear, the memory, the grief.
They were getting a second chance.
Adair held her tighter.
“It’s okay,” he whispered in her hair, rubbing circles into her back. He didn’t know or care what it was, but it would be okay he assured her. “I got you. You hear me? I got you.”
She sobbed harder, her whole body shaking now.
And he just kept holding her.
No questions.
Just presence.
And that—God, that—was what she’d needed most.
Even as Sabine’s sobs softened into quiet trembles, Adair didn’t let go. He held her like she was sacred. Like nothing else in the world mattered.
“Come here,” he said softly, settled into the driver’s seat and, with gentle pressure, guided her into his lap.
Sabine didn’t resist—she curled into him.
He closed the door with one hand, the other never leaving her thigh.
Just a slow, grounding rub, his thumb moving in calming circles while his other arm wrapped around her waist.
Sabine leaned her head against his shoulder, breathing in the scent of him—wood, cologne, something warm and worn-in that always made her feel less alone.
“You wanna tell me what’s goin’ on?” he asked, lips brushing her temple.
“I didn’t mean to fall apart like that,” she whispered. “I promise this is supposed to be happy.”
“I’m glad you did.” He kissed the top of her head. “Means you ain’t tryna carry it alone. That…you’re willing to let me hold some of it for you again…you…you’re building trust with me again.”
Sabine was quiet, staring at the dashboard. Her fingers played with the lapel of his blazer. The confession sat on her tongue, full and terrifying. Before she could force the words out, a soft knock came on the window.
They both looked up.
Dr. Pie stood outside, her posture was calm, her expression soft.
Like she’d been here before. Like she understood that sometimes, the real work didn’t wait for the office.
She spotted them in the car—Sabine curled into Adair’s lap; his arms wrapped around her like he was holding her together.
Pie didn’t move too quickly or call out right away.
She just approached slowly and stood by the driver’s side window, waiting until Adair noticed her there.
Adair pressed the button, lowering the barrier between them and Pie.
“I just wanted to make sure you two were okay.”
“We’re fine,” Adair started to say, but Sabine cut in, voice barely above a whisper.
“I’m pregnant.”
“Oh.” Dr. Pie blinked once. Adair’s hand stilled. He turned to look at her fully now, face open with shock.
“What?” he said.
Sabine nodded, eyes glossy again. “I found out an hour ago. I thought it was just my iron again, but...it’s not.” She swallowed hard, voice cracking. “I’m pregnant, Adair.”
He didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at her, really looked—like he was trying to absorb what that meant, what it could mean, what it would mean and then he exhaled, softly, and pulled her closer. His forehead rested against hers.
“Okay,” he said. Just that.
Dr. Pie didn’t say another word. She took one look at Sabine’s tear-glossed eyes, the way Adair’s arms curled tighter around her at the word pregnant and gave a single nod. “I’ll be inside when you two are ready,” she said softly then turned and walked back toward the building.
They needed this moment alone. As soon as the door shut behind Pie, the air in the car felt heavier. Adair’s chest rose with a deep breath, one hand still warm on Sabine’s thigh, the other moving up to cradle the back of her head.
“Look at me,” he whispered, and she did. Slowly. Her lip trembled. “You’re pregnant,” he said like he needed to hear it out loud, like maybe it would help it make sense. Then his voice dropped lower. “You’re pregnant.”
Sabine couldn’t speak. Her mouth opened, but no sound came. She just nodded, eyes brimming again. Adair cupped her face gently, thumbs brushing beneath her eyes.
“I…I am so scared, Dair.”
“I know,” he said immediately. “I know, baby but you’re not alone.”
“But what if it happens again?” Her voice broke on the last word. “What if I lose this baby too? I didn’t even get to know Ariyah. I didn’t get to be her mother the way I wanted to. And now I don’t know if I have it in me to survive that kind of pain again.”
Adair held her tighter, pulling her forehead to his. “Then we’ll carry that fear together. You hear me?”
She nodded, barely.
“I can’t promise everything will be perfect,” he said.
“I can’t swear this baby is gonna come into the world without any complications.
But what I can promise—what I do promise—is that you won’t be alone through a second of it.
I’ll go to every appointment. I’ll sit in every room.
I’ll drive to every craving and rub your back until you fall asleep.
I’ll build a crib with my bare hands from scratch.
I’ll do every hard thing and every small thing if it means you know I’m here. I’m here, Sabine.”
Her breath hitched, tears falling freely now.
“I didn’t get it right before,” Adair continued, brushing the hair back from her damp cheek.
“But I’ve been praying for the chance to do something right by you and this…
this baby…it’s a miracle. And I know we don’t say that word easy after what we’ve lost but you’re a miracle too.
And so is Ade. And so was she, even if we didn’t get to keep her. ”
Sabine’s whole body trembled again.
“And if this baby stays? Which I know it will,” he said confidently.
“We’re gonna love them so full they won’t even know how much came before them.
And if this baby doesn’t…” His voice cracked but he pushed through it.
“Then we will cry. And rage. And hold each other like we are right now but we will not lose each other again. I swear to God.”
Sabine let out a sob that shook the windows.
Adair kissed her forehead, her temple, the tip of her nose. “I got you,” he whispered. “We’re gonna walk through this slow. With Pie. With faith. With each other. You don’t have to be strong right now. You just have to let me be here. Let me be here with you through this.”
And for the first time since she heard the word pregnant an hour ago, Sabine exhaled like her body believed her heart was safe again. She leaned into him fully.
“I want it to be okay,” she whispered.
“Then let’s take it one day at a time until it is.” Adair closed his eyes, holding her tighter. “I love you,” he said. “And we already got through what should’ve destroyed us. This? We can face this. Together.”