No, it won’t. I try to savage it with bared teeth.
Shadow meows and threads his soft little body around my ankles, purring. I ignore him and read the directions for the test. I should wait for my morning pee, when the hormones would be the strongest, but I’m too wound up. I’ve bought the damn thing, and I need to do it now. I sit on the toilet and aim the stick in my stream of pee. Then sit there and wait.
My belly flutters out of control when the results appear. A faint positive line.
Tears spear my eyes, but I’m not devastated.
Strangely, it’s a mixture of excitement and fear that churn together.
And, of course, before I even have time to get my head on straight, I hear Armando walk into the apartment.
Shit! I don’t know what makes me throw the test into the kitty litter box and cinch the bag up for the trash, but I do. I rush out of the bathroom, somewhat desperate to get rid of the evidence before he sees it.
“You want me to take that out?” He reaches for the knotted bag of dirty litter.
“No, I’ll take it out.” Dammit, I sound breathless. My strange behavior doesn’t go unnoticed. Armando’s eyes narrow, and he cocks his head.
“Be right back,” I call as I sweep out the door.
Nausea hits me hard on the trip downstairs. I gag at the dumpster, the nasty smell pushing me over the edge. I run away from it, my belly heaving, but fortunately not pushing the contents of my stomach all the way up and out.
Ugh.
When I get upstairs, I find Armando in the kitchen holding the cardboard box the test came in, a stunned, unhappy expression on his face. “Fuck, Hannah.”
It’s hard to believe in the course of two minutes a mama bear energy could enter me and take hold, but it does. I’m instantly on the defensive, and protecting my baby is all that matters.
“Fuck!” he says louder, turning to face the wall and punching it. His knuckles break through my drywall, sending crumbles to the floor. “It’s my fault. I didn’t use a condom all the time. I let our passion take over, and… fuck!”
And with that, he finally crushes my hopeful pink Cinderella heart. There will be no happy ending for us. He’s not a prince. He’s not even a boyfriend.
He doesn’t want me or this baby. And I’ll be damned if I’ll let him taint any part of this pregnancy. And suddenly, things become crystal clear. I have a tiny life growing inside me that I need to protect. Honor. I need to do for my baby what I couldn’t do for myself.
Demand more.
Demand a lot more.
And Armando is not going to give that to me. He simply can’t. He’s made that abundantly clear.
“It was negative,” I say loudly, suddenly grateful for my instinct to bury that evidence with the kitty litter. “I’m late, but I’m not pregnant. I just wanted to be sure.”
Armando swivels back slowly and eyes me.
I’m not the best liar, so I hide it under bluster. “But this pregnancy scare brought it all home to me.” I suck in a ragged breath. “It’s time for you to leave, Armando. Things are getting too complicated.” My eyes fill with tears, and for once, I’m not ashamed. They’re honest tears and only serve to strengthen my resolve right now. “I don’t want a broken heart. It's already cracking. I’m cracking. I can’t do this anymore.”
The color drains from Armando’s face. I might’ve celebrated the fact that he had an emotional reaction to anything under different circumstances. But as it is, his shock and pain reverberate through me, shattering what little control I have left.
“You want me to leave?”
I nod.
“But I need to keep you safe.”
“You can do that from afar. Keep your men on me,” I suggest. “You and I both know you being around me is putting me in more danger than you staying. And you staying here?—”
“Hannah…”
I start to cry in earnest. I’m sure the hormones aren’t helping. “I need you to leave,” I say through my tears.
