Inked Craving

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There were times in my life when I was ready for anything. When I could look at the world in front of me and know that I could handle it. It was what I did. If something went wrong when it came to my business, family, or life, I found a way to make it work. I made it happen.

If I made a mistake, I handled that, too. If I had my heart broken over and over again until I was nothing, I found a way to take it and grow from it.

I could not weather this.

I sat on the edge of the bathtub, my feet in slippers, my shorts riding up since I had pulled them up too quickly. I hadn’t put on a bra, my tank top old and ratty. Yet it was all comfortable. I looked like the epitome of the hot mess I was, but nobody would see this. Other than me and my reflection.

I couldn’t remember if I had washed my hair this week, and I was pretty sure my sister had noticed. Considering that I was a whiz with dry shampoo and subtle updos, no one should have seen, but it had been at least since Monday. Showering was something I did daily because I still worked out and needed the hot water on my skin. I couldn’t sleep, so I craved something that made me tired.

Yet, something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

I looked down at the stick in my hand, at the five other sticks on the counter, the two more on the floor, and I didn’t cry. I didn’t do anything. I just sat there and looked down at the words that were clear, evident, and part of the name of the damn brand.

Pregnant.

I, Paige Montgomery, youngest of the Montgomery clan, including all other nineteen or so cousins, was pregnant.

Out of wedlock, out of a relationship, and left behind.

“This cannot be happening.” My words echoed in the bathroom, yet it was the truth. Every positive test, whether they be pink, blue, one line, two, an odd assortment of dots, or the clear words that said pregnant, let me know I was with child.

Something was growing inside me, taking nutrients and splitting cells and creating an amorphous blob until it would one day be the size of a cantaloupe, and then some other food product that would eventually be compared to an actual baby. And then I would give birth.

I would have a baby.

I scrambled off the edge of the bathtub, threw open the toilet lid, and proceeded to empty my stomach.

I honestly didn’t think it had anything to do with morning sickness, but rather…heart sickness.

I was pregnant.

Pregnant with Colton’s baby. The same guy who had left me and hadn’t taken a second look back after thinking he’d be so happy with his new life.