Page 108 of Break Me

His arms wrap around me, solid and sure, and I let myself believe what he does.

Maybe it’s too soon. Maybe in a few days, there will be two lines instead of one.

For now, that’s enough.

Raven

The next few days slip by beneath bright August skies and cool mountain nights. Life keeps moving the way it always does. We work. We eat dinner on the porch. Sam steals kisses whenever he passes me in the kitchen.

But underneath it all, we're waiting.

By the third morning, I wake before Sam and lie still, staring at the ceiling.

I listen.

To my body. To my thoughts. To the quiet hope I keep trying not to feed.

It answers with a strange fullness low in my abdomen. Not painful. Not uncomfortable. Just... different.

Maybe.

The thought drifts through me before I can push it away. I close my eyes and, just for a moment, let myself imagine the future.

Sam’s boots by the door, and something tiny beside them. A crib in our room, the window cracked open to let in mountain air.

His big hands holding something impossibly small, careful in a way he never is with anything else.

I can see him teaching our little someone to ride. Not a motorcycle yet. A bike with training wheels. His voice low and patient.

Would it be a girl? Would she have dark hair like mine and his stubborn chin? Or a boy who studies him, learning what it means to be a man even before he understands the word.

My hand presses against my stomach. There’s no movement. It would be too soon for that. But I swear I feel something.

It’s not physical, exactly. More like the sense of my body rearranging itself. Preparing.

Sam’s arm finds me in his sleep, like he senses the change in my breathing.

“You okay?” he murmurs without opening his eyes.

“Yeah,” I whisper. “Just thinking.”

His hand drifts lower, settling over mine without hesitation.

Neither of us says it out loud.

We don’t have to.

By afternoon, I’m tired. Not bone-deep exhausted. Just slower. Like my body’s asking more from me than usual. I sit down halfway through folding laundry, staring at the small stack of towels like they’ve personally offended me.

This is new.

I grab my phone before I can stop myself and search the internet for ‘early pregnancy symptoms.’

Fatigue.

Bloating.

Fullness.