Priscilla's POV
Two months had passed. I was in my living room with Brenda, slouched on the couch, a lukewarm cup in my hands. She was talking about some flirtation show playing in the background — laughing, gesturing, fully immersed.
"Look at this guy," she said, giggling. "He actually thinks she'll fall for him just because he gave her a rose?"
I smiled, out of habit. But something inside me shifted. A strange heat rose in my chest. Then a wave of dizziness. My heart clenched.
I set my cup down. Pressed my hand to my chest.
"Priscilla? What's wrong?"
I tried to speak. But nothing came out. My throat was dry. My legs felt weak.
I stood up abruptly, wobbling, and rushed to the bathroom. I felt Brenda's eyes on me, her voice calling after me. But I couldn't hear it.
I gripped the sink. My breath was shallow. And I knew. I didn't know how, but I knew.
Something was wrong. Something was changing. Inside me.
I walk back into the living room. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. Brenda's watching me, worried, eyebrows drawn.
"What's wrong now? You're seriously freaking me out…"
I sit down slowly, heart still pounding. I open my phone, scroll, searching for a date, a clue. Then I stop. I count. I count again.
I feel the blood drain from my face. I look up at her. And I whisper, barely audible:
"I… I haven't had my period in two months."
She doesn't speak right away. She just stares at me. *
Brenda disappears for a moment and comes back with a glass of water. She hands it to me gently, like I might shatter.
"Drink. Breathe. It's probably just stress. You've been working like crazy for weeks, barely sleeping…"
I take the glass, my hands slightly shaking. I sip. But it doesn't go down.
"You should take a test," she says softly. "Just to be sure."
I shake my head.
"No. I… I'm scared. If it's positive… I don't know what I'll do, Brenda."
She sits beside me, takes my hand.
"And if it's not? Are you going to keep spiraling like this for two more weeks? Do you really want to live with that doubt?"
I lower my eyes. She's right. I know she is. But it feels like the moment I see that result, everything will collapse.
I nod. Barely.
Brenda stands up immediately, grabs her phone.
"I'm calling Maxime. He lives two blocks away. He'll go to the pharmacy for you."
She dials, speaks quickly, clearly: three tests. I hear her, but it's distant. Three tests. As if one wouldn't be enough to tell the truth.
Brenda hangs up. She gives me a quick, worried glance, then sits beside me without saying a word. The silence is heavy. I feel her eyes on me, but I can't meet them.
I stare at a fixed point on the wall. My own voice echoes in my head: "What if I'm pregnant?"
A few minutes later, there's a knock at the door. Brenda jumps up. She comes back with a small white bag. She doesn't speak. She hands it to me.
I take it. My fingers tremble. The plastic rustles. Three tests.
I get up. I walk to the bathroom like I'm walking toward a verdict. I close the door. I stand there, back against the wood, the test still wrapped in my hand.
I can't breathe right. I can't think. But I do it. I unwrap it. I take it.
Then I sit on the edge of the tub. The test is next to me, face down. I can't look at it.
On the other side of the door, Brenda says nothing. But I know she's there. Waiting too.
I count in my head. One minute. Two. Three.
I reach for it. Pull back. Reach again.
And I whisper, barely audible:
"I can't look."
I can't do it. I hand the test to Brenda, my hand shaking.
"I can't… Look for me."
She takes it gently, like the plastic might shatter. She turns it over. Her eyes freeze. Then she looks at me.
She doesn't speak. She doesn't move. Then she opens her arms.
I understand. I understand without her saying a word.
I fall into her. I cry. I gasp.
"I'm pregnant… No… I'm pregnant…"
I repeat it, like saying it might make it real. Like saying it might undo it.
And then, from the hallway, a voice.
"What?" It's Meredith. She heard everything
I'm still in Brenda's arms when the door bursts open.
"What?!" Meredith snaps, her voice sharp, incredulous.
I barely lift my head, tears streaming down my face. I don't even have time to think.
"I'm pregnant…" I say, my voice broken.
She steps forward with a harsh stride. Before I can react, she grabs my arm, forces me to stand, turns me to face her.
"What?! Say it again. You're joking, right?"
I look at her, unable to speak. And then her hand slaps my cheek. Violent. Dry. Unexpected.
Brenda gasps.
"Are you out of your mind?! You just hit her?!"
"Shut up, Brenda!" Meredith spits. "You know nothing. You've been covering for her this whole time, haven't you? Look at her. Really look at her."
She points at me, eyes blazing.
"A disgrace. That's what you are. Sleeping around, coming back full of shame, and you dare to cry?!"
I stay frozen. My cheek burns. But it's inside me that the screaming starts.
Brenda steps between us, arms outstretched.
"You've crossed the line, Meredith. You don't have the right."
But Meredith doesn't hear her. She's on a rampage. And I'm just standing there, heart shattered, unable to breathe.
Her hand still burns on my cheek. But it's her voice that cuts deeper.
I freeze for a second. Then something breaks inside me. Not fear. Anger.
I lift my head. I look her straight in the eyes.
"You know nothing about me, Meredith. Nothing."
My voice trembles, but it comes out. Finally.
"You think this is easy? You think I chose this? You think I woke up one morning and said, hey, let's lose control of my life?"
Brenda holds my arm, but I don't step back.
"I was scared. I was alone. And now I'm pregnant, yes. By a man I don't even know. But that doesn't give you the right to hit me. It doesn't give you the right to treat me like I'm worthless."
Meredith opens her mouth, but I cut her off.
"If you want to scream, scream. But I won't stay silent anymore."
I sigh. My hand slides slowly over my belly, as if to protect it. I feel the tears still clinging to my lashes, but my voice is calm. Calmer than I ever expected.
"Yes, I'm scared. It's true. I'm scared of becoming a mother like you. So irresponsible. So cruel."
Meredith narrows her eyes, but I keep going, throat tight.
"But there's a voice inside me… A voice that says this child will have a mother. A real one. A mother who will love them. Defend them. Against everything. Against everyone."
Silence. Brenda doesn't move. Even the air feels frozen.
And then Meredith explodes.
"GET OUT!" she screams. "Get out of my house right now! I will not live with a… a slut!"
She spits the word like a slap. I step back. But I don't lower my eyes.
Brenda stands up, furious.
"You've gone too far, Meredith!"
But I'm not listening anymore. I feel my heart pounding in my temples. And under my hand, this belly that's beginning to exist.
Mathieu's POV
I'm at the airport. Ready to board. Beside me, Amber. My wife. The one I married to please my mother. Not for myself.
In the car, she didn't stop talking. She was thrilled at the idea of being in London with her husband. She kept saying things — plans, shops, museums. Words that floated around me without ever landing.
"We'll go to Notting Hill, right? You promised!" "What if we had brunch on a rooftop?" "Do you think we'll see Big Ben from the hotel?" "Oh, and I want a photo with the red phone booths!"
I didn't answer. I stared out the window. The sky was gray. Like me.
I was somewhere else. Lost in my thoughts. Fragments. Blurry images. That woman. Her face I can't quite hold onto. But she keeps coming back. Always.
The pendant in my pocket. I keep it. I don't even know why anymore. But I keep it.
Amber eventually noticed my silence. She slid her hand gently along my neck.
"What are you thinking about?"
I didn't hesitate. I didn't need to lie. Just to deflect.
"All the work waiting for me in London."
She smiled. She thought she understood. But she saw nothing.
The car stops abruptly in front of the terminal. Amber straightens up, eyes shining.
"We're here! Can you believe it? The airport, London, the two of us… It's crazy."
I look at her. And I speak. Not to argue. To draw a line.
"Amber… I'm going to London for work. Not for fun."
Her smile falters. I go on, my tone sharper than I intended.
"Don't count on me for walks, brunches, or souvenir photos. I'm not here for that."
She stays still. Her hands tighten around her bag. I see in her eyes that she doesn't understand. Or refuses to.
But I'm already somewhere else. In the flight that's waiting for me. In the city that never promised me anything but silence