Chapter 89: Negatives and positives

Patrick had come by to see the kids the following day after his first visit. As he came down the stairs to ask for snacks that the kids had requested, he stopped at the entrance of the kitchen at the sound of the door opening.

Newton stepped into the house, holding a box of pastries and Selen welcomed him into the foyer and took the box, their easy interaction showing the solid friendship they had built over the last few months. Anyone could see that Selen truly appreciated having him around.

Patrick, however, did not share that feeling.

Standing by the living room entrance, Patrick did not move or say a word. He just watched Newton with a cold, scrutinizing gaze.

His arms were crossed, and his sharp eyes tracked exactly how close Newton stood to Selen and the way his voice softened when he spoke to her. "This should be The Newton," he thought to himself.

Newton noticed the heavy stare and cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably under the pressure. Patrick caught the subtle shift in Newton’s posture and decided to bring his inspecting gaze down a notch.

He uncrossed his arms and slid his hands into his pockets, relaxing his stance just enough to ease the thick tension in the room. He did not want to make Selen uncomfortable in her own home.

But his stance had not actually changed. He was still firmly Team Clancy. He knew how much Clancy had messed up seven years ago, but he also knew how desperate Clancy was to fix his family now.

To Patrick, Newton was not just a helpful friend, he was a threat to the future Clancy was trying to rebuild from England. When Newton offered a polite nod to acknowledge him, Patrick gave a slow nod back.

Patrick then took his phone out to check for a message from his boss concerning his whereabouts, but he had not received anything other than the last message he got from Clancy about sending Chloe’s documents to her mother.

*****

For three years ofKatherine’s life, her cycle had been a cruel clockwork that delivered heartbreak month after month. But a delay was not entirely new. They had been here before. Three times, to be exact.

Three times the calendar had paused, only for their hope to be brutally ripped away a few weeks later. She waited until she heard Mark’s heavy footsteps head downstairs into the kitchen before she finally moved.

In the master bathroom, Katherine unlocked the bottom drawer of the vanity and pulled out a pregnancy test. Her hands were shaking so badly the plastic wrapper crinkled loudly in the quiet room.

She hated this plastic stick. She hated the entire ritual. After the explosive fight following Chloe’s christening, she had promised herself she was done tracking, done hoping, and done setting herself up for devastation.

Getting pregnant was not their only hurdle. The real terror was staying pregnant. Her mind flashed to the quiet hospital rooms, the silent ultrasounds, and the doctors delivering the same clinical, devastatingly sympathetic looks.

Her body knew how to start a life, but it had failed, repeatedly, to sustain one. She took the test, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. When she set the plastic stick faced down on the cold marble counter, she immediately turned her back to it. The anticipation was suffocating.

A negative test meant another wave of familiar, crushing grief. But a positive test right now, with their marriage completely fractured, felt like a ticking clock. It meant entering the psychological warfare of the first trimester, counting down the days and praying she would not see blood every time she used the restroom.

She stared at the bathroom door, counting the seconds in her head. The silence in the house was heavy, broken only by the distant clink of a coffee mug downstairs.

When the waiting time finally passed, Katherine swallowed hard, her throat completely dry. She turned around, braced her hands against the edge of the sink, and forced her eyes down.

The digital screen read: PREGNANT.

A loud gasp escaped her throat, and she instantly clamped her hand over her mouth to stifle the sound. Tears blurred her vision. For months, they had fought the trauma of their losses.

Instead of joy, an icy wave of pure panic settled deep into her chest. This was not a celebration, it was the start of a terrifying survival countdown.

She grabbed the test, wiped her face, and walked downstairs. Her legs felt too heavy for her to carry.

Mark was standing by the kitchen island, although it was a weekend, his eyes were glued to his work phone. He did not bother to look up when she entered. They had not spoken a real sentence to each other until then.

"Mark," she said. He paused, glancing over with a guarded, neutral expression. "Yeah?"

Katherine could not find any words. Her throat was too tight. Instead, she stepped forward and slid the plastic test strip across the counter.

It slid a few inches and stopped right next to his cup of coffee. Mark looked down at it. He froze. His phone stayed in his hand, but his eyes locked onto the word on the screen. The kitchen went completely still. He did not move or breathe for what felt like a full minute.

The memory of their past losses seemed to fill the room, draining whatever air was left.

When he finally looked up, all the color had drained from his face. The anger from their recent fights was gone, replaced by a raw, hollow fear that mirrored her own.

He knew exactly what a positive test meant for them, it meant the return of the ghost that had nearly destroyed them three times before.

"Katherine, this is not a joke, right?" he asked in a whisper, his voice cracking.

"No," Katherine whispered, a tear finally spilling over her cheeks. "I just took it." She said,

Mark took a step back, looking completely thrown off balance. He did not immediately move to hug her, and she stayed exactly where she was. The trauma of their history kept them anchored to the floor.

They just stood there, staring at each other across the room, both of them terrified of the fragile miracle sitting on the counter.