“I do not need to.”
“You have been sick for nearly two weeks.”
“That does not mean I am pregnant.”
“You missed your period.”
Her face changed.
“Why are you tracking my body?”
I felt something in me go very still.
“I am tracking the calendar because you wrote the wedding schedule on it.
Your cycle is marked because you did not want your period during the honeymoon.”
She stood, angry too fast.
“That is private.”
“It was private when we were honest with each other.”
Her eyes filled, but no tears fell.
She grabbed her keys.
“Fine.
I will go buy one.”
I opened the kitchen drawer and placed a test on the counter.
“I already did.”
For a moment, she looked at me like I had betrayed her.
That was the moment I almost laughed.
Not because anything was funny, but because the world had turned so upside down that she was offended by the proof instead of the reason proof was needed.
She took the box and walked to the bathroom.
Five minutes later, she opened the door and held out the test.
Two lines.
My ears rang.
She sat on the edge of the bathtub, both hands covering her mouth.
I stood in the hallway, looking at the woman I was supposed to marry, and felt my future begin separating from me piece by piece.
“We need a doctor,” I said.
“I already know,” she whispered.
“Know what?”
“How far along I am.”
The air went thin.
“How would you know that?”
She closed her eyes.
Before she answered, her phone buzzed on the bathroom counter.
She grabbed for it, but I saw the first line of the message before the screen went dark.
Did you tell him what really happened that night?
She held the phone against her chest.
“Who sent that?” I asked.
“No one.”
“No one has excellent timing.”
She shook her head.
“Thomas, please.”
I had heard those words from her before.
Please take the trash out.
Please hold my hand.
Please do not make me watch that movie alone.
This was different.
This please had fear under it.
The doctor’s appointment was the next morning.
Margaret barely spoke on the drive.
She wore sunglasses though the sky was overcast, and she kept both hands wrapped around her phone in her lap.
In the exam room, she answered questions in a thin voice.
I sat in the chair beside the wall and watched the nurse type.
When the doctor estimated the pregnancy, Margaret went rigid.
The timing pointed directly to Jamaica.
Not vaguely.
Not maybe.
Directly.
The doctor spoke gently, unaware that every word was landing like a hammer.
Margaret stared at the floor.
I nodded because my body still knew how to behave in public even while my life was collapsing.
Outside, in the parking lot, I asked one question.
“Who is Keon?”
Her face drained so quickly I knew the receipt had been real in every way that mattered.
“Where did you hear that name?”
“Your jeans.”
She looked away.
“Margaret.”
“It was nothing.”
I stepped back from her.
“Do not insult me.”
