Chapter 8 - Two Pink Lines
I bought four pregnancy tests.
Then I bought two more because apparently terror made me bad at math.
All six were positive.
I sat on the bathroom floor staring at them.
Pregnant.
After years of appointments.
Injections.
Blood tests.
Ultrasounds.
Hope followed by disappointment.
Doctors had never told me pregnancy was impossible.
Only unlikely without assistance.
I had translated unlikely into never.
Now my hands were shaking.
Ethan knocked softly.
“Emily?”
I couldn’t answer.
The door opened a few inches.
“You okay?”
I started crying.
He came inside, saw the tests, and froze.
I watched his face.
Shock.
Confusion.
Then wonder.
But he didn’t celebrate.
Not yet.
He crouched in front of me.
“How do you feel?”
That question broke me.
Not Are you happy?
Not We’re having a baby!
How do you feel?
“Terrified.”
“Okay.”
“And happy.”
“Okay.”
“And I don’t trust it.”
“Okay.”
He sat on the floor.
“We can be terrified and happy and suspicious together.”
I laughed through my tears.
The first trimester was difficult.
I had bleeding at nine weeks.
We spent four hours in an emergency room convinced I was losing the pregnancy.
Then the ultrasound technician turned the monitor.
A heartbeat.
Fast.
Strong.
Ethan cried harder than I did.
At thirteen weeks, everything looked normal.
At twenty weeks, we learned it was a girl.
Rachel immediately bought enough pink clothing to outfit a small country.
I waited until twenty-two weeks before telling Daniel.
Not because I owed him the information.
Because I wanted him to hear it privately rather than through someone else.
We met at a coffee shop.
“I’m pregnant.”
Daniel stared at me.
Then smiled.
A real smile.
“Emily.”
His eyes filled.
“That’s incredible.”
“Thank you.”
“Are you okay?”
“So far.”
“And Ethan?”
“Terrified.”
Daniel laughed.
“Good. Means he understands the assignment.”
Then his expression softened.
“You’re going to be a great mom.”
That nearly broke me.
Because years earlier, after our second failed fertility cycle, Daniel had said those exact words.
Back then they had sounded like a promise.
Now they sounded like goodbye.
“Thank you.”
He looked down at his coffee.
“I’m happy for you.”
“I know.”
And I believed him.
My pregnancy also changed my relationship with Olivia.
One afternoon she appeared at my office carrying a box.
Inside was a baby blanket.
Handmade.
Soft cream wool.
“My mother made it,” she said. “She made one for Noah too.”
I touched the fabric.
“Olivia…”
“You don’t have to use it.”
“I will.”
She hesitated.
“I need to tell you something.”
My stomach tightened automatically.
Apparently that reaction would follow me forever.
“What?”
“I’m moving.”
“Where?”
“Seattle.”
She had accepted a job.
Daniel supported the move as long as his custody time could be reorganized.
Then she smiled.
“There’s someone there.”
“Oh.”
“A woman.”
I blinked.
Olivia laughed.
“I know.”
“Does Daniel?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“He said he hoped I’d finally picked someone less complicated.”
I laughed so hard I nearly cried.
Life had become bizarre.
But bizarre wasn’t always bad.
At thirty-four weeks, Ethan proposed.
He did it in our kitchen.
No restaurant.
No stadium.
No audience.
I was wearing one of his T-shirts and eating peanut butter directly from the jar.
He got down on one knee.
I stared at him.
“You’re kidding.”
“Terrible opening again?”
“Ethan.”
He held out a ring.
“I know marriage scares you.”
“It does.”
“I know you don’t need it.”
“I don’t.”
“And I know loving me doesn’t obligate you to marry me.”
My eyes filled.
“So this isn’t a deadline. It isn’t pressure. If your answer is no, I’m still making you pancakes tomorrow.”
I laughed.
“But if someday you want to build the legal version of the family we’ve already built emotionally…”
His voice shook.
“I’d really like to be your husband.”
I looked at this man who had never once demanded that I prove my love by ignoring my fear.
“Yes.”
He blinked.
“Yes?”
“Yes.”
He stood too quickly and almost dropped the ring.
I laughed while he kissed me.
Then my expression changed.
“What?”
I looked down.
A warm rush spread through my clothes.
Ethan followed my gaze.
“Did your water just break?”
“I think so.”
He stared at me.
I stared back.
Then he grabbed the hospital bag.
Twenty minutes later, we were driving through Austin while Ethan obeyed every traffic law with maddening precision.
“You can speed a little.”
“I am not getting arrested while you’re in labor.”
Another contraction hit.
“ETHAN.”
“Speeding.”
Our daughter arrived seven hours later.
Six pounds, eleven ounces.
Dark hair.
Perfect fingers.
A furious little scream that made both of us cry.
Ethan held her against his chest.
“What’s her name?” the nurse asked.
We had discussed dozens.
But looking at her, I suddenly knew.
“Hope.”
Ethan looked at me.
“Hope Cole?”
I smiled.
“Hope Katherine Cole.”
After the attorney who had helped me reclaim my life.
When Rachel arrived, she cried.
When Olivia saw the photograph, she cried.
Even Katherine cried.
Then my phone buzzed.
A message from Daniel.
She’s beautiful, Em. Congratulations.
Under it was a photograph.
Noah, now three, holding a crayon drawing.
A stick-figure woman.
A baby.
A huge yellow sun.
Across the top, Daniel had written what Noah said the picture was called.
Emily’s happy family.
I cried harder than I expected.
May you like
Not because I wanted the past back.
Because for the first time, the past no longer threatened the future.
