It had been three weeks since that nightmare at The Cottage and Sam still hadn’t completely shaken what had happened off her. She dragged ass at work, and knew it. Connor had called and texted a few times, but she’d ignored him. She hadn’t listened to the voicemails and deleted the texts without reading them. Simply seeing that one of them started with, Sorry about… was enough to make her sick.

However, she started to think that it was more than disgust and heartbreak. She felt like hell. She took her temperature daily, and it felt like she had the flu but her temperature was just barely raised.

“You look like crap,” Jenny told her when she finally forced herself to come into the office. It was Friday, but she’d taken the entire week off. The least she could do was prove she wasn’t off on some tropical vacation.

Sam had already sweated through her light blouse by the time she collapsed into her desk chair. “I feel like crap,” she told Jenny.

Her coworker hovered in her door. “Do you want me to get you some water? Maybe—”

Sam couldn’t help it. She leaned over and vomited into her trash bin.

“Oh my God…”

Jenny covered her mouth, and Sam was just grateful she hadn’t been able to gag anything down that morning except half a grapefruit. “Sorry,” she said. “I… I don’t feel good.”

“I think maybe you should go back home,” Jenny said.

“I agree.” Mrs. Whiteworth stood behind Jenny.

Jesus. Sam shone with embarrassment. Had her boss seen her vomit? She’d never live that down.

“We don’t want you spreading whatever this is around the office,” Mrs. Whiteworth said. “I’m guessing you’re sick? Not hungover, right?”

Sam could barely face the woman, but when she looked at her she saw a glimmer of kindness in her eyes. Mrs. Whiteworth put on her own charade daily. She couldn’t let the whole office know she was soft underneath that hard exterior. “No, ma’am,” she said. “I… I think I have the flu.”

“Go home. Rest over the weekend. If you feel up to it on Monday, come in. Otherwise, I’m sure you have a few more sick days remaining.” Mrs. Whiteworth turned on her heels and walked away. Jenny widened her eyes at Sam.

When Sam got home, she grabbed her oversized crocheted blanket and curled up on the couch with a cup of chicken broth. Mindless daytime television, specifically the Bravo network, was sure to distract her.

Her phone buzzed on the couch. If this is Connor again, I swear to God—

But it was Ellie on Facetime. “Hey,” Sam said as she answered. She wished Ellie would just use the regular call feature, but it would look weird if she didn’t answer.

“Hey! I wasn’t sure if you’d answer, but I thought this was your lunch break. Where, um, where are you?” Ellie asked. “Are you at home?” She could see her friend as she tried to make out Sam’s background.

“Yeah, I’m a little sick,” Sam said. “Just going to binge some trashy reality TV and ride it out.”

“Sick, huh?” Ellie said suspiciously. “You’re never sick. And you never miss work.”

Sam sighed. She should have known Ellie wouldn’t accept such an excuse. “I know,” she said. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me! I feel like I have the flu, but every time I take my temperature it’s just barely elevated. I think the thermometer’s broken.”

“You feel like you have the flu?” Ellie asked. “How so? Just hot? Or …”

“Hot, tired. No, exhausted, actually. And I—I threw up at work. Like, in front of my boss.”

“Oh, God,” Ellie said. “I’m sorry. But, um, Sam? I don’t think you’re sick…”

“What do you mean?” she asked. She sipped the broth from her faded university mug.

“Babe, it sounds like… you’re pregnant,” Ellie said.

“Pregnant?” Sam laughed. “That’s ridiculous! How could I be—”

Oh, fuck. I’m a goddamned idiot. All those times. We hadn’t used protection any of those times. Why is this just now occurring to me?

“Sam?” Ellie asked.

“Oh, God. Oh, God, shit, Ellie. What have I done?”

“It’s okay! Hey, it’s okay. You don’t know anything for certain right now. You just need to take a test to be certain that’s all. I mean, I barely know what I’m talking about.”

“No,” Sam said. “You do.” She remembered Ellie’s ectopic pregnancy. She hadn’t told many people—in fact, Sam was one of just two people outside Ellie or Henry’s family who knew. “How did you… how did you know? When you were pregnant?”

Ellie sighed. “I took a test,” she said. “But, honestly? I also just kind of knew.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “I know what you mean.” The thought hadn’t occurred to her before, but as soon as Ellie said it she knew she might be right. “Where are you?” she asked Ellie.

“Getting on a plane at LAX in three hours,” Ellie said. “I’m coming. Don’t worry. Go to Aunt Mary’s for now, I’ll meet you there. There’s a direct flight, I’ll be there by early evening. Actually,” Ellie leaned closer to the phone and whispered. “I think I have some pregnancy tests still stashed away at Aunt Mary’s, too. Check in the bottom center drawer of Henry’s old bathroom.”

“Okay,” Sam said. She’d started to sniffle. “Those don’t, like, go bad or anything, do they?”

Ellie laughed. “I’m not an expert. But probably not within a year, no.”

“Good,” Sam said. “Because the last thing I need right now is to go into a store and buy one of those things.”

“I’ll call Aunt Mary and tell her what’s going on,” Ellie said.

“Thanks, E,” Sam said. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” It was true. And it was a great comfort to have that kind of support in her life.

“Don’t be weird,” Ellie said. “Love you, see you soon.”

Sam was on autopilot as she drove toward Aunt Mary’s. She hadn’t even changed out of the yoga pants and thin t-shirt she’d put on when she got home. Braless and in flip-flops, she drove like hell toward what she thought of as her last sanctuary.

“Sam, dear,” Aunt Mary said as she opened the door and held her tight. “I made you some cookies.”

Sam laughed into the older woman’s hair. Somehow, yes, cookies sounded like they could fix everything. “Oatmeal raisin?” she asked.

“Snickerdoodle,” she said.

Sam wiped the last of the tears from the corners of her eyes. “How much… how much did Ellie tell you?” she asked.

“I think quite a bit, dear,” Aunt Mary said. “Don’t you worry. Everything will be okay. No matter what.”

Sam followed her into the tiny kitchen and sat down at the round wooden table. Cookies before pregnancy tests. That seemed the way to go. She bit into the warm sweetness and closed her eyes. Instantly, she was brought back to one of her fondest memories. Ellie had just started to date Henry, and they’d spend the night here on the weekends—hungover from the bars while Aunt Mary cooked them greasy blue-collar breakfasts.

“I wish I could take it all back,” she said aloud.

“Don’t ever wish that,” Aunt Mary said. “Come what may, it’s all meant to be.”

“I don’t know,” Sam said. She stood with her plate, but Aunt Mary blocked her way to the sink.

“I’ll deal with that,” she said. “You just go on upstairs.”

Ellie had emailed her the flight details. Sam took her time on the stairs. It felt like she was on a ship’s plank and had no idea what waited for her at the end.

Ellie had been right. There was an unopened box of pregnancy tests at the back of the bathroom cupboard. She pulled it out and looked at the instructions. Stupid. You pee on the stick. Everyone knows that. Still, she wanted to know exactly what to hope for. This test was easy. Yes for pregnant, No for not pregnant. Nobody could mess this up.

Sam pulled down her yoga pants and hovered over the toilet. What if I can’t pee? What if I get an error? What if it’s wrong, no matter what it said?

She shouldn’t have worried. A trickle of urine released, like her body knew exactly what was needed. Sam sat the test on the counter, pulled down the toilet lid, and waited. She watched the clock on her phone and refused to even peek at the test until the full three minutes were up.

I just knew, that’s what Ellie had said. She got that, completely. It felt like she wasn’t alone, like there was someone else with her. That’s what pregnancy feels like.

When her clock showed 4:12, she stood up and looked at the test. There was no way to get it wrong. Yes, the test read.

Sam crumpled onto the floor. She missed the toilet and it banged painfully into her backside. She didn’t care, she was thankful for a second of distraction. Fresh tears began to pour out of her. What the hell am I going to do with a baby?

“Sam?” Aunt Mary appeared in the doorway. “Oh, honey. It’s positive?”

She couldn’t speak, she just nodded, and buried her face in her hands.

“Come here, come here,” Aunt Mary said. The old woman surprised her with her strength as she pulled her to her feet. She led her into the living room and Sam collapsed onto the couch.

She cried, unrestrained, in Aunt Mary’s lap. Sam felt like a child again. Aunt Mary petted her back and smoothed her hair. “I know, I know,” she told her.

What did she know? She didn’t know anything! Sam swallowed her bitterness, refused to let her fear and anger leak out onto this kind woman. “What… what am I going to do?” she sputtered. “I didn’t want any of this. I didn’t plan any of this.”

But you did! What did you think was going to happen? How many times did you let him come in you—beg him to come in you? She ran over all the times she’d been with Connor, all the stupidity, and it brought on a fresh river of tears.

“It’s going to be okay,” Aunt Mary said. “I promise. You just let it all out for now.”

She listened to the comforting words and did as Aunt Mary said. When all the tears had dried up, she felt lighter. Like her bones were hollow. Still, she stayed with her head in the woman’s lap all the way until Ellie walked through the door.