Page 104 of Once Upon A Second Chance

A sudden flush of heat climbs from my chest to my scalp. My skin prickles. The room tilts ever so slightly to the left, like someone shifted the floorboards without warning. My grip on Mrs. Kelley’s ankle loosens.

I close my eyes, just for a second. Breathe.

One. Two.

It passes, but my mouth has gone dry and my stomach churns like I skipped breakfast—which I didn’t. I try to remember if I drank enough water. If I’ve been upright too long without a break. But this isn’t just tired legs or skipping a meal. This is deeper. More ‘wrong’.

“You all right, sweetheart?” Mrs. Kelley asks, watching me with more shrewdness than I’d like.

“Yeah,” I say quickly. “Just stood up too fast earlier. Need to eat.”

She narrows her eyes like she doesn’t quite buy it, but bless her, she lets it go. “Well, you better not pass out on me, Penny Morgan. I still can’t bend this leg enough to climb stairs, and if you go down, I’ll be yelling for backup.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I say, managing a half smile.

We finish the session, and I go slower than usual, pacing myself through the cool down with extra care. I don’t let myself sit down—because I know if I do, I won’t want to get up again.

The second she’s out the door, I duck into the supply room. Shut the door. Lean againstthe shelf of boxed ice packs and unopened tape rolls, trying to ground myself.

I press the heel of my hand against my forehead, then to my stomach, then lower—just for a second. Just long enough to acknowledge what I’ve been refusing to say out loud.

This isn’t nothing.

This isn’t just stress.

This is... familiar.

Faintly. Distantly. From somewhere in the fog of years ago, when I thought about the possibility and promptly buried it. When I still had my mother to ask awkward questions, to hold my hand and hand me ginger tea without needing me to explain why I felt off.

She would know.

The thought hits harder than I expect, and for a moment, the ache of it outpaces the nausea.

I open my eyes, the shelves steadying themselves again. I reach up, grab a bottle of water, take a few deep sips, and tell myself I can finish the morning.I can make it to lunch. I can figure out the rest afterward.

But as I step back into the hallway, clipboard in hand and a new patient waiting in the vestibular room, one truth clicks into place so loudly I can’t pretend not to hear it anymore.

Something is happening inside me.

And it’s not going away.

The pregnancy tests are tucked on the bottom shelf, behind two different brands of ovulation kits and a dust-covered bottle of fertility supplements that expired in March.

I crouch down and scan the options like I’m comparing coffee beans instead of trying to confirm whether or not my life is about to change permanently.

My hands are clammy.

The box I reach for isn’t even the one I know from commercials or magazines. I just grabthe one with the cleanest packaging. Two tests. Results in three minutes. Easy-to-read lines.

There’s nothing easy about this.

I shove it into my basket beside a bottle of vitamins and a couple of granola bars I don’t want but needed to camouflage the real purchase. My heart is hammering, but I tell myself no one’s looking. It’s Mount Juliet, but it’s notthatsmall. Not everyone knows my business.

I should’ve known better.

I’m halfway to the register when I hear a voice that freezes me in place.

“Penny?”