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The timer goes off.

I make myself walk back to the bathroom.

Make myself look.

Two lines are clear as day, dark as sin, as obvious as the bruises on my skin.

Positive.

I'm pregnant with Dylan's baby.

The room spins.

I grab the counter, knees buckling.

Pregnant. I’m actually pregnant.

There's a life growing inside me, a piece of him that I'll never be able to escape.

"No," I whisper, then louder, "No, no, no!"

I grab the second test, take it immediately.

Wait another three minutes that feel like three years.

Two lines.

The third test.

Maybe they're all defective. Maybe?—

Two lines.

I slide down the wall again, tests scattered around me like evidence of my destruction.

Pregnant. I'm pregnant.

The word echoes in my head, getting louder and louder until I want to scream.

He wins.

He fucking wins.

Even if I leave him now, even if I run, I'll always be connected to him.

He'll use this baby to control me forever.

Custody battles. Forced visitation. Eighteen years of him in my life, in my child's life.

Mychild.

The thought stops me cold.

This isn't just about me anymore.

There's an innocent life depending on me now.

A baby who didn't ask for a monster as a father, who deserves better than to be born into violence and control.