She parked in the school parking lot, aware that she had a silly smile on her face.
She was tempted to call Greg and tell him, but they’d waited so long for this she wanted to break the news in the most exciting way possible and standing in the school parking lot didn’t fit that brief.
Maybe she’d put a fluffy toy in his cereal bowl and see if he guessed.
Or perhaps a romantic dinner would be best.
We’re going to be a family.
The smile stayed with her as she walked into school.
Nothing, not even the situation with Greg, could put a dent in her happiness.
“Good morning, Mrs. Sullivan.” Her class chorused her name as she walked into the room and she reflected on how far they’d come since that first day.
Tansy Wilkins put her hand up.
“Yes, Tansy.”
“You’re smiling, Mrs. Sullivan. Did someone tell you a joke?”
“No one told me a joke. I’m happy, that’s all.”
She set them a task, half her mind on her own situation.
Boy or girl?
They hadn’t even chosen a name.
Maybe that’s what she should do. Leave a book of baby names in his cereal bowl. She liked Darcy for a girl. Darcy Sullivan. It had a nice ring. And maybe Adam for a boy. Had there ever been an Adam in the family?
She floated through the day and was clearing up the classroom after the children had left when she made up her mind.
She was going to do the test. Right here. Right now.
Impulse: a sudden desire to do something.
She walked to the restroom and locked herself in the cubicle.
The test was right there, in the bottom of her purse, where it had been for weeks.
She ripped open the packaging and then paused, nervous, as if delaying it might change the result. As if nature hadn’t already decided.
A few minutes later, she had her answer.
She stayed in the cubicle for ten whole minutes. During that time two people came and went but Jenna stayed silent, her shoulders pressed against the cold tiled wall, her eyes squeezed shut against the scalding sting of despair. She knew she needed to leave the cubicle and get herself to her car but she was scared someone might talk to her and she knew she couldn’t handle that. She wasn’t sure she could walk as far as her car without breaking down.
Why had she done the test here?
Why hadn’t she waited until she was home?
Because she’d truly thought that this time—
She covered her mouth with her hand, holding back the emotion that threatened to hemorrhage out of her.
She wasn’t going to be a mother. Not this time and probably not ever. She was never going to give birth, feed her child, pick her up when she fell, listen to teenage woes, be present at her wedding...
Grief ripped through her, the raw pain of a loss so intense that she couldn’t breathe.