Positive Results

“Do you need help, miss?”

The female employee’s voice cut through the hum of the fluorescent lights. I stiffened, keeping my gaze locked on the plastic shelving. I shook my head. I gripped the edges of my oversized hoodie and pulled the fabric further down over my face, desperate to swallow myself in the gray cotton.

I had been standing in the family planning aisle for a long time. The harsh glare of the store lights bounced off the shiny cardboard boxes lined up in mocking rows. Pink boxes. Blue boxes. *Rapid results. Six days early. Digital.* I did not know anyone in this part of the city. I was twenty-one years old. Logically, there was no shame in buying a pregnancy test. Women did it every single day. But logic had abandoned me. I felt like a blinking neon sign hovered right over my head, broadcasting my stupidity to the entire store.

My eyes drifted back to the digital tests. They were the most expensive ones on the shelf. I could not afford them, but I needed an undeniable answer. No faint blue lines. No squinting at the light. I needed words on a screen. But how many was I supposed to buy? Was one enough? Did I need two? Three? Four?

If someone had told me a month ago that I would be standing in a convenience store agonizing over pregnancy tests, I would have laughed in their face. Yet here I was. The weight of my own irresponsibility crushed my chest. Condoms existed for a simple reason. I had chosen to rely on birth control pills. Pills I knew I forgot to take on schedule. I missed a day here. I took one late there. All of this panic, all of this suffocating dread, could have been prevented.

A fresh wave of tears pricked the back of my eyes. I blinked hard, staring at the price tags, forcing happy thoughts into my brain. I thought about sunlit mornings. I thought about good tips at the bar. Anything to stop the flood. It did not work. The tears spilled over my lashes, hot and fast, tracing paths down my cold cheeks. I darted my eyes up and down the aisle. Thankfully, it was early in the morning. The store was empty. I scrubbed my knuckles under my eyes, trying to erase the evidence of my breakdown.

“Miss, are you okay?”

The voice was small.

I froze. I swiped at my face one last time before turning around. Standing a few feet away was a little boy. He could not have been older than ten. He clutched a candy bar in his hand and stared up at me with bright, inquisitive eyes. His innocence felt like a physical blow. How pathetic was my current state that a literal child felt the need to check on me?

“Raul, I told you not to talk to strangers.”

A deep, authoritative voice carried down the aisle. I flinched. Heavy footsteps approached, deliberate and unhurried. A man stepped into my line of sight, followed closely by a second man whose sheer size blocked out the store's exit. My breath hitched. It only took me a fraction of a second to recognize the first man. The sharp jawline. The expensive tailoring of his clothes. He was the same man from the club meeting. The same man whose pristine suit I had ruined with a tray of spilled champagne.

My first instinct was flight. I turned my back to them, clamping my mouth shut, praying they would grab their items and leave. But luck was not on my side.

“But she’s crying, Val,” the little boy, Raul, protested. “And you told me to help people in need.”

*Val.* So that was his name.

“Yes, as in poor people, Raul. Not strangers in convenience stores,” Val said, his tone dry.

I heard the rustle of a jacket, and then a firm hand touched my shoulder. I jumped.

“Are you okay?” Val asked.

I turned around, resigning myself to the humiliation. I tilted my head up and met the gaze of the man who had been the victim of my clumsy bartending. I prayed he would not recognize my face without the dim club lighting and the heavy makeup. But his eyes widened. The recognition hit him instantly.

“Hey,” Val said, dropping his hand from my shoulder. He tilted his head, studying my tear-stained face. “You work for the Marcheses, don’t you?”

I swallowed the massive lump in my throat, refusing to answer.

Val’s dark eyes flicked downward. He looked at my hands, which were still hovering right in front of a stack of pregnancy tests. Then he looked back up at my face.

“It’s a small world,” he commented smoothly. He looked away, staring straight ahead at a rack of razors, politely pretending he had not seen anything. It baffled me how people in this world could pivot a conversation like that. “I’m Valerio,” he offered.

“Tessa,” I whispered, my voice cracking on the two syllables. I stared at the linoleum floor.

“I’m Raul!” the little boy chimed in, pointing a tiny finger over his shoulder at the massive wall of muscle standing behind them. “And that right there is Holt. But a quick question. Why are you crying, miss?”

Valerio reached out and smacked the back of Raul’s head. “Shut up,” Valerio growled.

“I was just asking!” Raul whined, rubbing his head.

Valerio sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before looking back at me. “Are you okay?”

I took a deep, shaky breath. I just needed to pull myself together. If I acted fine, they would leave. “I’m fine,” I said. But the moment the words left my mouth, a pathetic sob wrecked my voice.

“Then what do you have in your hands?” Valerio asked. He gave me a gentle, teasing smile and reached out, lightly grabbing my wrist to raise my hand.

“I think she’s crying because she’s pregnant!” Raul announced at the top of his lungs. His voice echoed through the quiet store.

I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me.

Holt, the massive bodyguard who had remained silent, let out a low snort. He stood with his hands clasped in front of him. Just like the Marcheses, Valerio carried himself with the lethal grace of someone born into power.

Valerio dropped my hand. He looked horrified by Raul's outburst. “Are you crying because... you know what, it’s none of my business,” Valerio stammered, stepping back. “All I want is to apologize for my little brother disturbing you.”

“I don’t want any babies,” Raul declared, ignoring the tension. “To have babies, you have to do that thing. I saw it in live-action on my brother’s laptop. It was on this site called po—”

Valerio lunged forward, slapping his hand over Raul’s mouth. “Shut up!” Valerio hissed, his face turning a deep shade of red.

A deep, rumbling chuckle broke out from behind them. Holt threw his head back and laughed, thrilled by his boss's misery. Despite the suffocating panic gripping my chest, a short laugh escaped my lips. Valerio looked at me with a desperate pout, waiting for my reaction.

“Well,” Valerio muttered, removing his hand from Raul's mouth. “At least he made you smile.”

Raul gave me a bright grin. He shrugged his small shoulders. I gave him a weak smile back. Growing up in a group home, bouncing between foster families, I knew exactly how children operated. They spoke their innocent truth without a filter. They didn't care about social boundaries. I loved that about them. I loved children.

“Were you crying because you got knocked up?” Valerio asked, dropping his voice to a hushed whisper so Raul wouldn't broadcast it again.

The bluntness of his question shocked me. I vigorously shook my head. “N-no! I don’t even know if I’m pregnant!” I defended myself.

Valerio let out a soft laugh, and I realized he was messing with me. He was trying to lighten the mood. If he only knew the reality of my situation, he wouldn't be laughing.

“Okay, then there is no reason for you to be crying,” Valerio said. His expression sobered, turning gentle. “Listen, I don’t want to involve myself in your personal life. But being able to provide for a child is a blessing. It really is.”

He looked down at Raul, who had pulled a smartphone out of his pocket and was tapping away at a game. Valerio’s words were meant to be encouraging. But he didn't understand. He lived in a world of endless wealth. I could barely provide for myself, let alone a baby.

“Are you a dad?” I asked.

Valerio blinked, taken aback. “No. I’m sorry, it’s none of my business.”

I felt guilty. “No, I didn't mean it like that. It was a sincere question, not a snarky comment.”

I shifted my weight, gripping the fabric of my hoodie tighter. I looked at the bodyguard, then at Raul, and finally settled my gaze on Valerio.

“Can you keep this a secret?” I asked. My voice trembled. It was humiliating to beg a stranger, but I knew he had a good relationship with Alessio. If Alessio found out—if anyone in the Marchese family found out—my life would be over. I didn't even know the truth yet. *Would Alessio even consider the chance of him being the father if he knew?* The thought sent a shiver down my spine.

“I don’t know who I would even tell,” Valerio said, giving me a warm smile. “But sure. I promise.”

We stared at each other for a few seconds. The silence stretched. The crushing weight of my reality slammed back into me. I felt hyper-aware of my body. I needed to get home.

“Well, thank you for your advice. And for cheering me up,” I said, forcing a polite tone. “But I really have to go.”

I stepped around him and gave Raul a gentle pat on the head.

“Bye, miss!” Raul yelled without looking up from his screen.

I didn't look back. I sprinted down the aisle, grabbing a dual package of tests on my way to the counter. I threw a crumpled bill at the cashier and walked out into the cold morning air.

The moment my apartment door clicked shut behind me, I dropped my keys on the counter. I wasted no time. I had prepared for this moment with military precision. I had chugged two cans of water before even leaving for the store, ensuring I wouldn't have to wait for my bladder to cooperate.

I tore open the cardboard box. My hands shook. I almost dropped the plastic sticks onto the linoleum bathroom floor. I ripped the foil wrappers open with my teeth.

I followed the sterile instructions to the letter.

Then, I placed both tests side by side on the edge of the bathroom sink.

Three minutes. The digital screen stared up at the ceiling.

I backed out of the bathroom. I walked into my cramped living room and sat on the edge of my unmade bed. I stared at the chipped white paint on the opposite wall. My mind raced through the pathetic reel of my life.

I had graduated high school with bad grades. I was a college dropout because I could not keep up with my peers. I had zero savings. I had no career path. I had no future plans. I was twenty-one.

No matter what, I couldn’t be—

*BEEP.*

The sharp sound from the bathroom made me jump off the mattress. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

I walked toward the bathroom. My legs felt like lead. Each step took monumental effort. I stopped in the doorway, staring at the sink.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

*Please let it be negative. Please. Please.*

I clasped my shaking hands together in front of my chest, digging my nails into my own skin. I prayed to whatever higher power was listening. I begged for the screen to be empty. I promised I would move on with my life, forget this terrifying scare, and never make a mistake like this again.

I took a ragged breath. I opened my eyes.

I looked down at the edge of the sink. Both digital screens flashed the exact same stark letters.

The ground vanished beneath my feet. The air was ripped from my lungs. My world shattered into a million irreparable pieces.

*Pregnant, 3+ weeks.*