Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
You’re not alone anymore.
Tommy’s voice drifts from the kitchen. He’s humming under his breath, something low and tuneless. He doesn’t know yet, and the thought makes me ache.
I trace a hand over my stomach, still flat, still unreal. “Who are you?” I whisper. “Why now?”
There’s no answer, just the sound of rain starting against the window.
I close the journal and make myself a promise.
Tomorrow, I’ll tell him.
The next morning, Jenni insists on driving me to the clinic. “We’ll get an ultrasound,” she says. “It’ll help you see things clearer.”
I don’t argue. My stomach churns all the way there.
The nurse is kind, her voice practiced gentle. She doesn’t flinch when she sees the faint scars on my arms. “We’ve seen everything, honey” she says. “You’re safe here. If it’s early we may have to do the transvaginal, but if you haven’t had your period in two months or more, we should be good this way.” When she presses the cold gel to my skin, I hold my breath. The room fills with static, then a faint, rapid sound — like wings fluttering underwater.
“That’s the heartbeat,” she says.
Jenni grips my hand, tears shining in her eyes.
I can’t look away from the screen. It’s just a shadow, a flicker of light, but it’s real.
My heart breaks and rebuilds in the same moment.
I cry quietly, not from fear this time, but from awe.
The nurse prints a picture and hands it to me. “Healthy so far.”
She mumbles about weeks and it all gets lost in my head. The print out tells me my timeline. She shares my anticipated due date. The thoughts hits like ice water, but beneath the fear there’s something else — determination.
Whatever happens, whoever this child belongs to biologically, I’m their mother. And I’m not running anymore.
Back at the house, Jenni makes tea and sits with me on the porch.
“You need to tell him soon,” she says.
“I know.”
“Do you want me there?”
“No. This is something I have to say myself.”
She nods. “Then I’ll wait by the phone if you need me.”
When she leaves, I sit there for a long time, staring at the photo in my lap.
The tiny blur of life, proof that something good can grow from ruin.
Tommy’s truck pulls up just as the sun starts to set. He climbs out, smiling when he sees me. “Hey, Tiny.”
My throat closes.
He walks up the steps, leans down to kiss me. “You okay? You look pale again.”
“I need to talk to you,” I manage.
His smile fades. “What’s wrong?”
My hands shake as I hold out the picture. “I went to the doctor.”
He takes the photo, frowning at it, then looks back at me. “Jami?”
I swallow hard. “I’m pregnant.”
He doesn’t speak at first. Just stares, processing.
Then his hand trembles slightly as he looks back at the image. “That’s… ours?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper as the shame washes over me. “It could be. It might not be. I’m so sorry, Tommy. I didn’t know. I wasn’t myself.”
He looks at me for a long time, eyes full of a hundred emotions I can’t read — shock, pain, maybe even hope.
Finally, he sits beside me, the photo still in his hand. “You’re clean now?”
“Yes.”
“You staying that way?”
I nod. “For the baby. For you. And for me.”
He lets out a slow breath. “Then that’s all that matters.”
Tears blur my vision. “You’re not angry?”
“Angry at the world, maybe, I’m not gonna lie” he says softly. “But not at you.”
I cover my mouth with my hands, the sob catching in my throat. He pulls me into him, wrapping me up until the shaking stops.
“Whatever happens,” he murmurs into my hair, “you’re not doing this alone. We’re gonna have a baby, Tiny. And that is something to cherish.”
That night, after he’s fallen asleep, I lie awake listening to his breathing. My hand rests over my stomach, the faintest curve now that I know it’s there.
The fear doesn’t vanish, but it doesn’t own me either.
I think about my journal entry today. I told him. He stayed. I’m still sober. Maybe love really can give the gift of a new life.
I close the journal, turn off the light, and finally let myself rest.
Nineteen
Tommy Boy
There’s a moment, right before sunrise, when the world feels honest. Before the engines start, before the phones buzz, before the noise of life starts crawling through the cracks.
That’s when I think best. Or maybe it’s when I hurt the least.
She’s still asleep in our bed, one hand curved around the pillow, the other resting where I know she’s started to grow new life. I don’t know if it’s mine. That truth sits in me like a stone. But what I do know — what I feel down to the bone — is that she’s mine. She’s always been mine.
And that’s enough.
The ring’s been sitting in my drawer for weeks. I’ve picked it up more times than I can count. Turned it over in my hand, stared at the small scuff marks on the band from the night she gave it back. I couldn’t get rid of it before.