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EIGHT

DIA

“Be like the bear, fierce, protective, and unapologetically you.” - Unknown

Maritza shows up without warning.

Skye alerts me first, thinking it’s another delivery from Justin, I push her into my bedroom and shut the door.

She still barks but at least I don’t have to hold her back from biting someone.

When I order deliveries, I put in the notes leave at the door and don’t knock.

For all the work I’ve done with this dog, the training I’ve paid for even, there is something in her spirit I can’t soothe.

I fear the time before I got her has permanently left this distrust etched into her.

It kills me I can’t take her pain away.

It's probably how my family feels about me. Unable to help is the worst.

I hear her before I see her—Maritza that is, knocking like the building’s on fire, keys jingling, and her voice sharp through the door. “Open up! Dia, I swear to God, if you’re ignoring me again, I might just lose my shit and tear the door down!”

I pull the door open mid-rant, still in pajama shorts and a tank top, hair a mess, eyes gritty from sleep I didn’t actually feel like I got.

“Jesus, I’m here, no need to wake the neighbors.”

She marches in like she owns the place, arms crossed, eyes sweeping over me. Her face shifts from irritation to concern in half a heartbeat.

“You look like hell.”

“Thanks,” I mutter, closing the door behind her. “Why are you here?”

She pauses in the middle of my living room, scanning the half-empty coffee cup on the table, the soup container from two nights ago still sitting on the counter, my dog barking like the crazy shit she is from behind my bedroom door.

“You’ve been off,” she says simply. “More than usual. And now you’re not answering texts. I get it, you lost Clutch and this shit is hard. But I can’t do the freeze out. I can’t handle not being able to get you through the depression. Because the way you shut down, as your bestie for the restie, I have to tell you is depression. So here I am. Hoping to be a little bit of light in your darkest time.

I wave a hand. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You’re pale. You’re clammy.” She waves over to the soup container, “and you only eat soup when you can’t keep food down. You need to take a flu test, sister!”

“It’s not flu season and I don’t have sinus issues. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Maritza studies me for a moment. “Dia, brace yourself. But could you be pregnant?”

The words hit me like a slap to the face or a cold water bath in the midst of a good sleep. I think about my cycle. When was my last period? Before Benji died. I thought the stress made me skip the first month. But thinking on it now, the period never came. Not a single cycle since he passed away. A lump swells in my throat and I swallow hard, arms wrapping around myself.

“I don’t know. I haven’t had a cycle, Maritza. What do I do? I didn’t even think about it.”

Maritza doesn’t say anything for a second. Then, soft but firm: “Let’s go find out.”

We drive in silence. The kind that isn’t awkward, but charged. My hands won’t stop trembling, and I catch Maritza glancing at them more than once. She doesn’t ask questions. Just parks in front of the CVS like we’re grabbing gum, and walks in with me.

We don’t talk as we head to the aisle. She picks out three different brands. Just in case, like I guess one isn’t good enough. Are false negatives or false positives that common? I’m in over my head here for sure.

At the register, I feel like I’m screaming look at me just by being there. I’m the girl who might be pregnant with a dead man’s baby or because I’m a lustful whore and slept with my ex it could be his. Either way I might be having a baby by a man who shattered my heart. The cashier doesn’t blink, she doesn’t seem the least bit rattled that my world is crumbling. She bags them, takes the cash, and hands me my receipt like it’s nothing.

Maritza takes the bag, “we’re not doing this here in some drug store bathroom. You want to do it at your place or mine?”

I feel the heat flush my cheeks, “no way Karma needs to be in on this.” Karma is her man. They have a great life together now and I don’t need him first thinking she’s pregnant. And I really don’t need him to know the test is mine and saying anything to my family or Toon about me potentially being pregnant. If it’s Benji’s baby, it will be this lasting gift from him. My family will overwhelm me during a time I want to embrace this little piece from the man who loved me. If Toon finds out and it turns out to be his … well, where does that leave us?

I don’t want him to be with me for his kid. Do I even want to be with him? The thoughts run crazy in my mind. While I hesitate to admit this even to myself … yes, I want Justin. I never stopped wanting him. It sucks. It makes me a horrible person. I loved Benji and always will but nothing will ever touch the love and passion Justin and I shared. I never wanted the high of his embrace to leave me. Even after he left I would have done anything to have him back. He’s my person.

He's my partner.

The one who sees I can’t carry the load alone and steps in.

He listens without judgment and advises me when I ask for it, but otherwise he allows me to use him as a sounding board to simply release all the things pent up inside me.

Benji loved me.

He cherished me.

But he didn’t silently understand me.

I don’t think I ever honestly allowed him the space to do that.

It’s this part of me that somehow always belongs to Justin.

The part of me, the ability in me to be me, good, bad, ugly, and beautiful.

Back in the condo, I sit on the edge of the tub, the box shaking in my grip.

The cup of pee sitting on the counter taunting me.

Maritza kneels in front of me.

“You want me to wait out here?”

I nod.

I don’t want her to see my face when the truth lands.

Although, she is my best friend, I don’t know how to tell anyone that I’ve slept with Justin.

The shame washes over me once again.

But it’s not shame for sleeping with him.

It’s more like guilt for not having respect for Benji.

“I just needed to feel something,” I mutter to the space around me.

“It doesn’t mean I love you any less.”

Five minutes later, I’m staring at the stick on the bathroom counter.

Two lines.

Two very clear, no-mistaking-it lines.

My mouth goes dry.

My body goes still.

I don’t feel joy.

Or hope.

I feel.

.

.

fear.

This isn’t a blessing.

Not right now.

Not like this.

I flush the toilet though I didn’t use it a second time.

I wash my hands three times.

I walk out holding the stick in a paper towel like it might bite me.

Maritza’s standing by the kitchen island, arms crossed, face tight.

When she sees me, her expression softens.

“So?”

I set it down between us.

She doesn’t say “congrats” or “oh my God.” Just nods once, lips pressed together.

“You want me to stay? Or do you need time to process alone?”

“I need to breathe.”

She gives me the all-knowing look, the one her mother is a master at giving all of us as kids.

“I know you find peace in solitude but this is huge. You sure?”

I hesitate.

Then nod.

“Yeah. I just... I need to think.”

She hugs me—tight, grounding me—and whispers, “You’re not alone in this.”

Logically, I know this.

But emotionally, I don’t know how to do this.

Maritza knowing me well, leaves with a gentle hug.

I pace the condo for almost an hour, talking to my dog like she’s going to fix everything.

“How did this happen?” I ask Skye.

She tilts her head.

“You know how,” I answer myself bitterly.

“But still. I was careful. Mostly.”

The word echoes.

Mostly.

It could be Benji’s.

My cycle has been off since losing him.

Or because I wanted to be a whore in the midst of my grief, it could be Justin's.

The thought makes me sit on the floor, arms around my knees, back pressed against the cabinet beneath the sink. I don’t cry. Not yet. I think I’m too scared to cry.

Instead, I grab my phone and text Toon.

Can you come get me?

The reply is fast.

Where to?

I can’t talk. I just... need to feel.

Another pause. Be outside in 10.

The wind slaps against my skin like a baptism. Like always Justin doesn’t ask questions. He simply passes me the helmet, waits while I climb on the back of his bike, then revs the engine and pulls away.

I press my forehead to his back, gripping his cut tight between my fingers like it’s the only thing tethering me to earth.

We ride.

Through town. Out past the city limits. Down roads flanked by fields and nothing at all.

The engine roars. The world blurs. And for a little while, I’m not pregnant. I’m not broken. I’m not anyone except the girl holding on to someone who makes it easier to breathe.

After about an hour, he slows and pulls into the gravel lot of a small roadside diner lit by neon and desperation.

He kills the engine. Turns to look at me.

“You hungry?”

I nod. “Starving.”

Inside, it smells like fries and old vinyl booths and something that reminds me of my childhood—maybe grease or grits or comfort.

We order burgers and sweet tea. I pick at the straw wrapper with shaky fingers.

Justin watches me without watching me, that way he always does—quiet, protective, never pushing.

“You ever just feel like the world hit you sideways?” I ask, voice low.

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Once or twice.”

The waitress sets down our plates, and we eat in a silence that’s not heavy, just present.

His voice comes soft when he speaks again. “You gonna tell me what’s got you pacing your condo like it’s a cage?”

I freeze. Of course he knows. Of course he senses it. He always has.

But I’m not ready. Not here. Not in a booth with ketchup packets and old men playing cards in the corner.

I shake my head. “Later.”

He nods. Doesn’t push. Just goes back to his fries like he’s giving me time to find the words. He takes me home around midnight.

Walks me to the door. Doesn’t turn to leave. “You gonna be okay?”

I stare at the knob. My hand rests on it, but I don’t twist. “No.”

I open the door, and he follows me inside without being asked. That’s the thing about Justin—he doesn’t wait for me to invite him when he knows I need him.

I stand in the living room, arms limp at my sides, heart thudding like I ran here instead of rode.

He steps closer.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for this,” I whisper.

He tilts his head. “For what?”

I look up . It’s Justin my heart screams at me. He will handle you with care. “Pregnancy.”

His breath catches. He blinks once, slow. But he doesn’t flinch. “And you just found out?”

I nod.

His voice is low now. Careful. “Do you...God I hate to even ask this. Do you want to keep it?”

I nod as tears fill my eyes. “You need to know, I don’t,” I pause, and it shatters me. “I don’t know whose it is. It could be Benji’s.” I pause again and take a deep breath, “It could be yours. And no matter what I want this baby, yes.”

The words hang between us like smoke.

He doesn’t run. Doesn’t curse. Doesn’t shut down.

Justin just stands there, absorbing it all. “Okay,” he says finally.

Just that.

Okay.

I break then. Not into sobs, but into silence—falling against him, letting him wrap his arms around me like he’s the last solid thing on earth.

I don’t know what happens next. But right now, he’s holding me.

And somehow... that’s enough.