Page 89 of Beautiful Scar

“Morning sickness is one common symptom,” Vito says, his tone like a doctor’s, very businesslike, while my heart races like crazy and sweat breaks out on my palms. “You’re having it slightly earlier than usual, but we’d better make sure, just in case.”

“Morning sickness.” Even the words make my stomach twist. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“You and Tigran have been trying. It makes sense.” He sits down suddenly in a chair and takes one of my hands in his. “I know this is difficult, Dasha, but you can handle it. You’ve grown so much already since coming here.”

He’s right. I know he’s right. His papery soft skin rubs against my palm, and I stare at the box of tests. Just recently, I went for a walk outside with Tigran like it was totally normal. I let him getme offin public, which was a huge leap outside my usual comfort zone. I’m getting stronger and more confident every day.

But pregnant?

I knew it might happen. I mean, on some abstract sort of level, I figured sure, one day, some future version of me might get knocked up.

It couldn’t possibly happen now.

Not when things are going well. My feelings for Tigran are growing every day. Vito’s right; I’m finding myself here with my husband, and I’m exploring the world in ways I haven’t in a very long time.

I’m waking up again. I’m brushing cotton from my eyes. I’m stretching my legs and breathing, really breathing, fresh air and wanting more for the very first time in twelve long years.

And I might be pregnant.

“You can do this,” Vito says firmly. “Go take the tests. Whatever they say, we’ll deal with it.”

“Okay.” I slowly stand, clutching the bag to my chest. “Okay. Okay. I can do it.” I turn woodenly to the bathroom. But I don’t move. “Icando it, right?”

“You can do it,” Vito confirms.

“Fuck,” I whisper and force myself to move. “Shit. Damn.Fuck.”

I’m afraid, but I go to the bathroom anyway. I close the door and lock it. I keep cursing to myself, letting all the profanity I’ve held in check flow from my lips as I open the boxes and take the tests, one by one.

My fingers are numb and shaking as they sit there on the edge of the counter, staring at me. Calculating, doing their chemistry, waiting to tell me if I’ve got a baby growing inside.

What’s going to happen if I really am pregnant?

We have the deal still. I can carry this child to term and then move back to my brand-new fortress in Philly.

But the idea of actually abandoning my family feels so abhorrent to me now.

Will he let me stay? Does he want me to?

I know things are good between us, but me living with him forever was never what we discussed.

I’m dimly aware that I’m panicking. I’m doing that thing where I take one problem and extrapolate it out into a dozen terrible what-ifs, and all those freaking nightmare scenarios turn into a dozen more hellish situations, and on and on. What people callspiraling the fuck out.

My head’s a symphony tuning up, noise with no structure, until it suddenly goes dead quiet when one test finishes first.

I lift it up, staring, mouth hanging open.

Then the next is done. And the next. Each of them shoving an undeniable truth in my face.

“Positive,” I say, breathless, almost flinging the pee-covered tests in poor startled Vito’s face. “I’m pregnant. I’m pregnant!”

He laughs and wraps me in a big hug. “Congratulations,” he says gently. “I wish I weren’t the first person you told, however.”

“Tigran.” My stomach twists. Excitement rocks down my spine. I never thought I’d actuallywanta baby, at least until right now that I actually have one on the way. “I need to go to him. Right now, Vito, please.”

He nods sharply. “Yes, dear, I’ll drive you myself. I know where he’s working this afternoon.”

I run into the bedroom, get changed into more comfortable clothes, and follow Vito into the hall. I’m going to be a mother. I’m pregnant with Tigran’s baby. We have a child on the way, and we’re going to be a real family.

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