Page 37 of Pieces

I duck into the feminine care aisle, keeping my head down as I scan the shelves. There they are: rows of neatly stacked boxes with words likeRapid ResultsandEarly Detection. I grab one at random, then two, because Liv would probably tell me to “double-check, just in case.”

At the counter, the woman glances up and smiles politely. “Find everything okay?”

“Yeah,” I mumble, my voice barely above a whisper.

She rings me up without comment, but as I slide my card through the reader, I swear I can feel her eyes lingering. I force myself to meet her gaze, expecting judgment, but all I see is boredom. She hands me the bag without a word, and I mutter a quick, “Thanks,” before practically sprinting out the door.

Outside, the cold air hits my face, and I suck in a deep breath, clutching the plastic bag like it’s a ticking time bomb.

One step at a time.

Chapter seventeen

Daphne

Thebaginmypurse feels like I’m carrying some kind of beacon that’s blaring with a neon sign that says ‘there’s a pregnancy test in here’ that only gets more obnoxious with each step I take up to my campus dorm.

I’d managed to avoid running into anyone on the way back, but the peace of my single dorm is a double-edged sword. It gives me space, sure, but it also leaves me alone with my thoughts.

I glance at the door, suddenly filled with fear and panic, that once I go inside I know I’m going to take that test. I don’t know if I’m ready. My feet move before I think about it as I take a detour through the campus park, desperate for some air. The late afternoon sun filters through the trees, painting the grass in golden streaks. It’s quiet here, just the rustling of leaves and the distant hum of traffic. My chest expands fully for the first time all day.

Near the edge of the park, a little boy and who I assume is his mom are playing. Is there a playground here? I guess it would make sense if there were, but until now, I’ve never thought about it.

The little boy is no older than three, a curly-haired bundle of energy chasing a foam soccer ball across the grass. The mom laughs, clapping her hands as he kicks it toward her, stumbling on his tiny legs. When he falls, she’s there in a second, scooping him up and brushing the dirt off his knees.

I freeze, my feet rooted to the spot. The scene pulls at something deep inside me, a thread of curiosity and longing I didn’t expect. My throat tightens, but not in the suffocating way it did earlier. This feels different.

Would I ever be able to do that? Be that for someone? The thought is terrifying, but for a brief moment, it’s also…not.

The boy wiggles free from his mom’s grasp, kicking the ball again. His laughter floats through the air, and I catch myself smiling. It’s an infectious sound, bright and unfiltered in a way that makes my chest ache.

My fingers curl tighter around the strap of my bag. “I can’t even figure out my own life,” I whisper under my breath. “How am I supposed to raise someone else?”

The little boy turns, his big, curious eyes catching mine for a split second. He grins, his chubby cheeks glowing in the sunlight, before running back to his mom.

I exhale slowly, shaking my head. The ache in my chest doesn’t go away, but it shifts, and I turn, resolution fueling each step toward my dorm to stop procrastinating.

The shared bathroom is just down the hall, and for the first time, I curse not having my own. The thought of taking the test out there, with the chance of someone walking in, makes my skin crawl.

I pace the room, chewing my lip. Maybe I should wait until it’s late, when the bathroom’s empty. But Liv’s words echo in my head: One step at a time. You’ve got this.

Grabbing the test, I shove it into my hoodie pocket. My hands shake as I inch open my door and peek down the hallway. It’s quiet, no sound of running water or doors opening, so I dart out, making a beeline for the bathroom.

As I step inside, locking the stall door behind me, the fluorescent lights buzz faintly. My heart races as I pull out the test and open the box, the crinkling plastic echoing in the empty space.

“Just do it,” I whisper to myself. “It’s, well, I was gonna say it’s not a big deal, but it is. Anyway, just…do it.”

The little plastic stick in my hand feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. I force myself to breathe and go through the motions, though, because I have to know.

When it’s over, I carefully cap the test and wrap it in toilet paper before tucking it into my pocket. I can’t just stand here for three minutes and risk someone walking in.

Back in my room, I set the test face down on my desk and set a timer on my phone. My legs feel like jelly as I sit on the bed, my hands shaking in my lap.

When my phone rings, I practically leap out of my skin. But then I see Liv’s video call request.

Her dark hair comes into view first, styled in two messy space buns that make her look effortlessly cute. She leans close to the camera, her eyes narrowing. “It’s been over two hours, Daph. I’m losing my mind. Are you okay?”

“You’re losing your mind?” I snap, though the words come out more like a frantic whisper. “I’ve got a ticking time bomb in my bedroom that has less than three minutes to change my life, or maybe not, and then all this stress will have been for nothing.”

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