Page 99 of Finding Forgiveness

“I’ll just wait until I see the doctor.”

Despite how shitty I’m feeling, I’m not confident. I’ve been off the pill for months, and every time my period comes, I end up in tears. I’m afraid those pills my mother gave me have broken something inside.

I haven’t even told Connor I’ve gone off my birth control. I could see how desperately he wanted to have a child with me, so I thought I’d surprise him, but as the months passed and my hope diminished, I kept quiet.

Jacinta picks up a piece of toast off her plate and takes a huge-arse bite before pointing it at me. “Listen here, you,” she growls. “I shared my moment with you, and now you need to return the favour.”

We end up back at her apartment and follow the same routine as we did with Jacinta’s test, only this time in opposite places. Once I pee on the stick, we take a seat on the side of the bath. I was nervous last time, but that pales in comparison to how I’m feeling right now. My stomach is churning and I have peppermint-flavoured bile sitting in the back of my throat.

When the timer goes off on her phone, I spring to my feet … it takes Jazzie a little longer to rise. I stare down at the stick sitting on the countertop, but I’m petrified to pick it up. I don’t think I can bear another disappointment.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” she snaps, swiping it up. When she raises her hands in the air and squeals, “You’re preggo, biatch,” it takes a moment for those words to sink in.

As soon as they do, I throw my arms around her and cry. We jump up and down a few times, but then Jacinta suddenly stills. I feel it before I see it. “Eww, did you just pee on my foot?”

“No, I think my water broke.”

Oh crap.

I kick off my shoes, because gross, and lead her into her bedroom. Once I’ve managed to lay her down, I spring into action. I’m unusually calm, maybe because this isn’t my first rodeo. When I re-enter the room with a stack of clean towels in my hands, she looks over at me confused. “What are you doing?”

“Preparing for the birth. Do you have a heat lamp?”

“A what?”

“A heat lamp to keep the baby warm. The towels are so I can wipe all the gunk off it once it’s born.”

“First of all, have you lost your ever-loving mind? Secondly, you are not delivering my baby.”

“I have experience,” I proclaim, rolling my eyes.

“With piglets,” she yells. “I’m having a human baby … and did you forget about its giant head?”

I throw my hands in the air. “Oh, so you’re finally admitting it has a giant head?”

“Pass me my phone,” she roars.

“Why?”

“So I can call an ambulance and my husband.”

“I can do that.”

“You need to pack my bag.”

“You haven’t done that yet?” I screech.

“No! I thought I had another week to prepare. Obviously, this kid has other plans.”

I dash towards their walk-in robe to grab a suitcase. I come out a few minutes later with a cute top and a pair of matching heels. “What about these.”

“That top no longer fits, and I’m going to the hospital to have a baby, if you even think of packing those shoes, I’m going to spear your eyeball with the heel.”

I gasp. “Bitchy much.”

“Just pack me some comfy clothes, tights, tees, a few hoodies. Oh, and in my top drawer, you’ll need to grab myYummy Mummypyjamas.”

“Yummy Mummy?”