CHAPTER 59
HELENA
◆
The first pregnancy test turned positive while I was on the phone with a senator accused of taking construction bribes.
“Ms. Duarte,” he said, “your questions presume facts not in evidence.”
I stared at the two pink lines on the bathroom counter.
“Senator, your signature is on twelve transfers to your cousin’s company. The facts have excellent penmanship.”
Sofia spoke in my earpiece. “Helena?”
“One moment.”
I ended the call after confirming his refusal to comment.
Then I sat on the closed toilet and forgot how language worked.
The test remained positive.
I had taken it because coffee smelled wrong that morning. Because my period was six days late. Because Gabriel had burned a batch of pastries and the butter had made me cry.
None of those facts prepared me for the small plastic object holding a future.
I called Sofia first.
Not because I loved Gabriel less.
Because I needed to say the words as myself before I became part of someone else’s joy.
She arrived twenty minutes later with Lucia and three more tests.
“I told you one friend,” I said.
“I am infrastructure,” Lucia replied.
Sofia locked the newsroom bathroom, saw my face, and unlocked it again.
“Open door,” she said.
I laughed shakily.
All four tests agreed.
Lucia sat on the floor in a cream suit that probably cost more than the sink. Sofia leaned against the wall. I held the results across my knees.
“I wanted this,” I said.
“Wanting does not prevent fear,” Lucia answered.
“What if I disappear into it?”
Sofia took my hand. “Then we become unbearable until you reappear.”
“What if I cannot work the same way?”
“You may not,” Lucia said. “You will decide what changes. No one gets to call one choice liberation and another surrender from outside your body.”
I looked at her.
“That was annoyingly good.”
“I run a cooperative. We produce wisdom in committees.”
“How do I tell him?”
Sofia’s eyebrows rose. “Words are your industry.”
“He will become emotional.”
“He will become a national emergency,” Lucia corrected.
“He may buy a hospital.”
“He no longer has enough unrestricted money,” Sofia said. “Justice has benefits.”
I put the tests into my bag.
For the rest of the afternoon, I edited an investigation, argued over a headline, ate crackers, and remained a journalist.
Pregnancy did not erase the person who learned about it.
That evening, Gabriel stood in the Costa Clara kitchen sanding the edge of another shelf.
He wore old jeans and protective glasses. Flour streaked one sleeve because he had also attempted dinner.
“You are home early,” he said.
“I own the company.”
“So does Sofia. She sent a message saying you were leaving for a confidential appointment.”
I would murder her later.
“Sit down.”
Fear crossed his face immediately.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Is Sofia hurt?”
“No.”
“Lucia?”
“No one is bleeding. Sit.”
He sat at the kitchen table.
I took the tests from my bag and placed them in front of him.
For several seconds, he stared without understanding.
Then he understood all at once.
His hands flattened on the table.
“Helena.”
“Yes.”
“Are you—”
He stopped.
The old Gabriel would have asked whether I was sure, whether the tests were reliable, which doctor, what security, what schedule.
This man looked at me first.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
Tears filled my eyes.
“Terrified. Happy. Hungry. Still me.”
He stood slowly.
“May I hold you?”
One question because the world had changed.
Not a script.
A hand offered at the edge of something enormous.
I stepped into his arms.
His body shook around mine.
“We are having a baby,” he whispered.
“Apparently.”
“You are having the baby. I am standing nearby with snacks.”
“Better.”
He laughed against my hair and began to cry.
The sight of Gabriel Salles crying over four plastic sticks destroyed whatever composure I had left.
We held each other in the open kitchen while dinner burned.
After a while, he lowered to his knees and pressed his forehead gently against my stomach.
“Hello,” he said.
“It cannot hear you.”
“I am establishing consistency.”
“No optimizing.”
“No optimizing.”
He looked up at me.
“Still you,” he said. “Every day. Especially the hard ones.”
I put my hands in his hair.
“Still us,” I answered.