Chapter 24
HARPER
The drive to Anna and Jaxon's cabin felt both endless and far too short, like time had decided to mess with me just for fun.
Anna drove in silence, her hands steady on the wheel in a competent way that made me jealous because my hands wouldn't stop shaking.
She kept glancing over at me with concern etched into her features, probably worried I was about to have a breakdown in her passenger seat.
I sat with my arms wrapped around myself like I could hold myself together through force of will alone, staring out the window without really seeing the landscape rolling past.
Spring had fully transformed Wyoming into something beautiful. Wildflowers dotted the trail in yellows and whites, and the sky was a crystalline blue that I missed all winter when it was a bland grey. Everything looked alive and completely at odds with the terror churning in my stomach.
Three months. I hadn’t had a period in three months and I didn’t notice. How was that possible? How had I been so consumed by fear and trauma and survival that I'd completely missed something so fundamental, so obvious?
But I knew exactly how, I could trace the path back through disaster after disaster.
The fire had happened, and everything after that had been crisis management leading up to the latest tragedy of my boutique being destroyed.
For three months I had been living in survival mode where basic self-care had taken a backseat to just getting through each day without falling apart completely.
Not to mention the only thing I had truly done for myself since the fire was be with Connor. And we had sex. A lot of sex.
My hands moved unconsciously to my stomach, pressing gently against the flat plane beneath my shirt that suddenly felt different somehow, charged with possibility.
Was there a baby in there? A tiny cluster of cells that would become a person with Connor's eyes and my stubbornness?
Connor's patience and my tendency to make terrible jokes at inappropriate times?
Our child.
The thought made my breath catch, made tears prick at my eyes that I blinked back furiously because I couldn't cry yet or let myself feel anything until I knew for sure.
“Harper?” Anna's voice was gentle, pulling me from my spiraling thoughts before they could drag me under completely. “We're here.”
I looked up to find we'd turned onto the long gravel driveway leading to Anna and Jaxon's cabin. The structure sat nestled among pine trees like something out of a magazine spread. There were fresh flowers in flowerpots that hung from the porch railing that Anna must have planted recently because they weren’t here when I came over last week.
Anna parked near the front porch and killed the engine. For a moment, neither of us moved. We just sat there in the sudden silence broken only by our breathing and the tick of the cooling engine and my heart pounding loud enough that I was pretty sure Anna could hear it.
“You ready?” Anna asked quietly.
“No.” The honest answer, the only one I had. “But let's do it anyway before I lose my nerve and spend the next nine months in denial.”
We climbed out of the car, and I followed Anna up the porch steps on legs that felt disconnected from my body, like I was piloting them remotely from somewhere far away. The afternoon sun was warm on my back, but I couldn't stop shivering as Anna unlocked the front door and led me inside.
The cabin's interior was warm and welcoming. Its exposed log walls smelled like pine and the fireplace mantle housed picture frames showing Anna and Jaxon, Jaxon and Connor, me and Anna and even group shots in addition to family photos as well.
“Bathroom's upstairs,” Anna said, already heading toward the stairs with the kind of purposeful stride that said she'd thought this through. “I'll grab the tests.”
I followed her up the wooden staircase, my hand trailing along the smooth railing that was probably handcrafted by some local artisan, each step feeling heavier than the last like gravity had decided to increase just for me.
The second floor had one bedroom and a bathroom, all decorated in a sleek modern design.
Anna disappeared into the master bedroom and emerged moments later with a small box. She handed it to me with gentle hands like she was passing me a live grenade.
“Take your time,” she said softly. “I'll be right outside if you need me.”
I nodded mutely, my throat was too tight to speak, and slipped into the bathroom. The door closed behind me with a soft click that sounded too loud in the quiet, too final, like I was closing the door on one version of my life and opening another.
The bathroom was beautiful. All-natural wood and stone, a claw-foot tub in the corner that looked like something from a romance novel, a large window that looked out over the pine forest where birds flitted between branches.
Sunlight streamed through the glass, painting everything in warm gold tones.
Beautiful. Perfect. Completely wrong for the moment of reckoning I was about to have.
I set the box on the granite counter and just stared at it for a long moment.
My brain was unable to process that this small cardboard box held answers that would change everything.
The packaging was clinical, blue and white with a color scheme that probably tested well in focus groups, with images of smiling women holding positive results like they'd just won the lottery.
Like this was something to celebrate, something joyful and wanted.
Maybe it was, under different circumstances. Maybe if I wasn't being actively terrorized by people who wanted to hurt me. Maybe if Connor and I had been together longer, had talked about this and planned for it.
But right now, all I felt was terror mixed with something else I couldn't quite name.
What if I am pregnant? What if there's a baby and I'm bringing it into a world where people are threatening me? Where someone might hurt Connor to get to me?
What kind of mother would I be?
My hands shook as I opened the box, the cardboard tearing slightly under my trembling fingers, and pulled out one of the two remaining tests.
I read the instructions even though they were straightforward enough that a drunk person could follow them—pee on the stick, wait three minutes, read the results that would either ruin or redefine your life.
Simple. Easy. Life-changing.
I took a breath that didn't fill my lungs properly. Then another that was worse before I forced my trembling hands to cooperate with a brain that wanted to just throw the test away and live in ignorance forever.
Just do it. Get it over with. Knowing is better than not knowing.
The test was as simple as advertised. I capped it with shaking hands, set it on the counter like it might explode, and washed my hands with movements that felt robotic as I watched water run over my skin and wondered if my life was about to change in the next three minutes.
Then came the waiting.
Three minutes. One hundred and eighty seconds. An eternity measured in heartbeats and shallow breaths and existential terror.
I couldn't look at it. Couldn't watch the test window while it processed, waiting for lines to appear or not like some kind of scientific magic eight ball.
Instead, I slid down the bathroom wall until I was sitting on the cool tile floor that felt good against my overheated skin.
I pulled my knees up to my chest and fixed my eyes on anything except the counter where my future was being decided.
The seconds ticked by with agonizing slowness, each one feeling like an hour, stretching and distorting until time lost all meaning and I existed in some kind of purgatory between knowing and not knowing.
I counted heartbeats instead of seconds because numbers were something concrete to hold onto. I listened to the clock on the wall—tick, tick, tick—marking time I couldn't stop no matter how much I wanted to.
Somewhere outside, a bird sang with the kind of cheerful obliviousness that made me want to throw something. Happy, unconcerned and completely unaware that inside this bathroom, someone's entire life was potentially changing.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, making me jump hard enough to hit my head on the wall. I pulled it out with shaking hands that could barely grip it properly.
Connor
How's girl talk going? You okay?
The simple question made tears well up. Connor, checking on me even when he knew I was with Anna. Connor, who had no idea that in the next few minutes, everything might change. That he might become a father whether he was ready for it or not.
Good. Anna's showing me some wedding stuff. Be back soon.
The lie tasted bitter, and made my stomach clench with guilt. But I couldn't tell him the truth. Not yet. Not until I knew what the truth actually was.
Another minute passed that felt like ten. Then another that felt like a hundred.
My phone buzzed again.
Connor
Take your time. Love you.
Love you too.
Please don't hate me if I'm pregnant. Please don't think I tried to baby-trap you into staying. Please still want me even if everything gets more complicated than you signed up for. The thoughts spiraled, irrational and desperate and completely unhelpful.
Finally, three minutes had passed according to the clock that felt like it was deliberately moving slower just to torture me.
I stood on shaking legs that didn't want to support my weight, my heart pounding so hard I felt dizzy and nauseous like I might pass out right there on Anna's bathroom floor. I approached the counter like it might explode, like the test might physically hurt me with whatever truth it held.
The test sat there, innocuous and terrible, its little window showing—
Two lines.
Two very clear, very obvious, very pink lines that left absolutely no room for interpretation or hope or denial.
Positive.