Chapter 4
Three weeks had passed in a blur of suppressed calm and pretended normalcy. I'd thrown all my energy into graduate school applications—my only escape route.
The morning sun streamed through my bedroom blinds, casting streaks of light across the scattered graduate school application materials on my desk.
I rubbed my aching neck and glanced at the alarm clock—7 AM.
I stood up shakily, planning to head to the bathroom to wash up, but after just two steps, a wave of intense nausea hit me. I gripped the wall, taking deep breaths.
"Probably just stress," I told myself. "Once I submit the applications, everything will be fine."
The dizziness was getting worse, but I forced myself to gather my application materials.
Today was Columbia's deadline, and I had to get to that independent coffee shop for final review and submission. Their internet was faster than ours, and more importantly—it would keep me away from Patrick.
For the past three weeks, we'd been carefully maintaining a façade of normalcy. Patrick seemed to sense my application plans but hadn't directly tried to stop me.
I knew what he was waiting for. He was waiting for me to confess about that night, waiting for me to admit what happened between us. But I would never say a word. I couldn't be the person who destroyed his relationship with Luna.
The nearby coffee shop called "Bean There" was filled with rich roasted aromas. I found a corner spot and opened my laptop for final review. Application essays, recommendation letters, transcripts—everything was ready.
"Large latte, double shot," I told the barista. I needed caffeine to stay alert.
But when the barista approached with that latte, the familiar coffee aroma suddenly became something nauseating. My stomach started churning, the nausea ten times worse than this morning.
"No, no..." I covered my mouth and rushed to the restroom.
I barely made it through the door before losing control completely. Everything in my stomach came rushing up. The violent retching brought tears to my eyes, and I gripped the toilet bowl edge, my whole body shaking.
"Miss? Miss, are you okay?" The barista's worried voice came from outside. "Do you need me to call an ambulance?"
I wiped my mouth with tissue paper, my face probably white as a sheet. "I'm... I'm fine," I said shakily.
As the nausea gradually subsided, a terrifying thought began forming in my mind. I tried to remember my last period, but stress and sleepless nights had messed with my sense of time.
When was my last...?
Panic started spreading through my chest like cold vines wrapping around my heart. No, this couldn't be possible.
But memories started flooding back. Those fragmented pieces, those details I'd tried to forget. Patrick's hands, his lips, and...
"Fuck," I whispered, covering my face with my hands.
I snuck into the pharmacy like a criminal, finding pregnancy tests near the condoms and lubricant section. The cashier was a guy who looked barely twenty, and my hands were shaking as I handed him the money.
"Need a bag?" he asked.
"No." I grabbed the test and bolted out the door.
Back home, I went straight to the upstairs bathroom. Music was coming from the basement—Patrick was working in his recording studio. My parents were both out, leaving just the two of us in the house.
I locked the bathroom door and opened the package with trembling hands. The instruction text seemed to jump around on the page, and I had to read it three times before understanding the testing procedure.
Three minutes. I just needed to wait three minutes for the answer.
I sat on the cold tile floor, staring at that little plastic stick. My heart was beating so fast it felt like it might burst from my chest.
One line appeared. Then...
A second line.
Clear, undeniable, pink second line.
"This can't be..." My voice was barely a whisper. "This can't be happening..."
But pregnancy tests don't lie. I was pregnant. I was carrying Patrick's child. I was carrying a child whose father I could never tell anyone about.
Tears began blurring my vision. How could I be so stupid? How could I let this happen? Patrick had Luna, they were together, and I... what had I become?
A homewrecker. And now I was pregnant with his child.
"How could I..." I slumped against the floor, the test slipping from my hands. This baby shouldn't exist. I couldn't let it exist. I couldn't use this child to destroy Patrick and Luna's relationship, couldn't destroy our family.
Just as I was trying to collect my chaotic thoughts, footsteps echoed from downstairs.
"Fanny?" Patrick's voice came from the stairway. "Are you home?"
Shit. I frantically grabbed the pregnancy test, shoving it into the bottom of the wastebasket under the sink, then covered it with tissues.
"Fanny, are you in the bathroom? I heard some noise." His voice was closer now, followed by gentle knocking.
I quickly splashed water on my face, but my reflection looked terrifyingly pale.
"I... I'll be right out." I tried to make my voice sound normal.
When I opened the door, Patrick was leaning against the doorframe, wearing an old Nirvana t-shirt, his hair slightly messy from just removing his headphones. His brow was furrowed, those deep brown eyes full of concern.
"Fanny, you look terrible," he stepped forward, instinctively wanting to touch my forehead. "Are you sick?"
I stepped back, avoiding his touch. If he touched me, I might completely fall apart. "It's just... girl stuff," I avoided his gaze. "Nothing serious."
"Girl stuff?" He raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying my explanation. "Fanny, you look like you're about to faint. I'm calling Marina to come check on you."
"No!" I said it too quickly, too urgently. Patrick's expression became even more alert. "I mean, don't. Mom has yoga classes today, I don't want to bother her. I just need some rest."
Patrick studied me quietly, that familiar intense gaze making me feel completely exposed.
"If you're sure." He finally said, but the worry in his voice didn't diminish. "Did you eat anything today?"
I shook my head, not daring to speak, afraid my voice would tremble.
"I'll make you some soup." He turned to go downstairs.
"Patrick." I called him back, and he immediately turned to look at me. For a moment, I wanted to tell him everything. Wanted to collapse into his arms and let him solve this mess. But Luna's shadow flashed through my mind, along with her hair tie left on his guitar bag.
"What?" he asked softly.
"Thank you." Those were the only words I could manage.
His expression softened, that tenderness almost completely destroying my defenses. "You never have to thank me, Fanny. Never."
That evening, I locked my bedroom door and opened my laptop. But instead of checking application emails, I searched for "Portland Planned Parenthood."
Page after page of information scrolled across the screen. Appointment times, procedure explanations, costs... My hand trembled on the mouse.
This wasn't what I wanted. This was never part of my plan. But I had no choice.
When I clicked the "Confirm Appointment" button, tears blurred my vision again.
'I can't let Patrick know...' I repeated in my mind. 'He has Luna, I can't use this baby to destroy them...'
But why did my heart hurt so much? Why did it feel like I was killing a part of myself?
