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It had been easy to ignore at first.

The first time it happened, I blamed the cafe’s cheap coffee.

The second time, I blamed the stress.

Then today happened.

I had been in the middle of wiping down the counter when the dizziness hit. My stomach lurched, and I barely made it to the restroom in time. The moment I saw my reflection right after I'd vomited my guts out—pale, wide-eyed with lips trembling—I knew.

I knew, but I still made myself buy the test, stand in this tiny bathroom, and stare at the two pink lines.

I squeeze my eyes shut before I open them again.

Positive.

The air seems to thin around me. My stomach lurches, but I don’t know if it’s from the nausea I’ve been ignoring for weeks or the weight of this realization settling in my chest.

Pregnant.

The word doesn’t feel real yet.

And yet, the proof is right there. It’s staring right at me like a big neon sign.

I smile, my tears on the way down my cheeks.

But then the happiness evaporates as my mind starts to race, going over the possibilities, the timelines, and the last men I want to think about.

Julian.

Alaric.

Oh Goddess.

Either of them could be the father.

Bile rises up my throat. The question of who could be the father rings in my head sharply, no matter how I try to ignore it.

But right now, this isn't about them.

This is about me and my baby.

It doesn't matter who my baby's real father is. The fact remains that I'm the mother and I'll do everything I can so that my baby never feels like I'm not enough for her or him. I'll be their support system, just like she or he will be for me.

I press my palm against my still-flat stomach, my chest tightening.

I don’t have a family. I never have. And now, the Goddess has given me one.

A part of me wants to break down, to cry, to scream at the universe for making me face this alone.

But the other part? The part that has always fought to survive makes me straighten my spine.

I can do this.

I’ve always done well on my own.

A slow breath fills my lungs.

This baby is mine.