With her fingers firmly encircling the strap of her bag, she stood outside Landon Douglas's flat; the thin material wet from how hard she was squeezing it. Her heart thumped irregularly; each pulse echoed like a warning within her ribs. She had paced her kitchen, circled her room for hours, stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, wondering if she had the courage to tell him. She had considered texting him instead, considered pretending nothing was wrong, considered running—just running until everything disappeared.
She could not, nevertheless. This was not a secret she could bury. Landon had to learn. Deep inside her, too, she hoped—just
a little—he would give her something to hang onto. one word. a pledge. one lifeline.
She inhaled one uneven breath and tapped.
Softly clicking the door opened. With unkempt hair and eyes a little exhausted, Landon stood there. He had a half-completed beverage in hand; condensation was sliding down its side. Avery's heart twisted as he sat casually with one hand on the doorframe and the other barely grasping the glass. He looked so calm, so ignorant of the storm she was dragging.
"Avery?" he asked, perplexed. "What are you doing here?"
Almost lost her bravery listening to his voice. Nearly. She swallowed hard, though,
and forced herself to talk before her will broke to pieces.
"Landon… I'm pregnant."
Though she exhaled softly and tentatively, the ensuing silence was harsh, brutal, and unyielding.
Landon's eyebrows only raised a little; there was no surprise or unbelief in the manner she had expected; rather, there was a shadow passing through his face. Slowly he placed his drink on a little table close to the doorway. His fingers lingered on the glass as though he suddenly found it difficult to let go.
She turned toward him once more, her jaw rigid. "No."
Avery blinked. "What do you mean, no?"
"That is not viable," he stated. His voice was soft, yet it was persistent—too consistent. And a cold object ran down her spine.
"What are you talking about?" she whispered. "You were there, Landon; you know what happened."
He then turned away as though his gaze had become too weighty to meet. He exhaled even slower, drew deeply and rubbed a hand over his jaw.
He began gently, "Avery, I didn't say something."
Every nerve in her body tensed. She ready herself.
He backed off, then let the door open more—an invitation inside, even though she did not budge. Come in. We ought to converse."
She did not. She doubted her legs to support her.
He thus remained at the entry, hands folded as if getting ready for impact.
He said, "I had a terrible accident years ago." "And then... the doctors told me I might never be able to have children." His voice was strained now, as though he was confessing anything he had never wished to disclose. Basically, I'm impotent."
Avery sensed the earth under her feet slanting. Her ears rang so sharply for a
moment that she was unable to hear anything else. Her surroundings blurred at the boundaries.
"What?" she inhaled, nearly coughing on the word.
"Avery, listen—this isn't your fault. I'm not attacking you. I'm repeating what my doctor said. I can't... I can't become pregnant."
Her heart split so furiously she experienced the ache running through her neck. She murmured, "So you believe I'm lying."
His face grew tight. Not fury. Not tenderness. A something in between.
Something she could not grasp.
"I'm saying it can't be mine," he said, voice a little louder, "That's the truth. I am not able to—"
She stopped abruptly.
He froze.
"I arrived here terrified, Landon. I came because I believed you needed to know, not so you would accuse me of something I did not do." Avery's chest rose and fell fast, her breathing shaky, her eyes burning.
"Avery–"
"No." She shook her head. "You believe this is simple for me? You believe I desired this? I'm trying to be truthful with you and you're calling me a liar."
He replied, hating the hopelessness in his own tone, "I'm not calling you a liar, but what do you expect me to say? The doctors were explicit—"
Before she could stop herself, she snapped, "Doctors aren't God."
Landon moved toward her but she retreated. They appeared to be farther apart than the whole corridor.
He said softly, "Avery, I'm not attempting to injure you; I'm just trying to make sense of this. I am informing you what I know."
"Whether you believe me or not," she said, her voice shaking, "I'm pregnant. And you're the only man I have been with."
Quiet. Thick. Choking.
She swallowed hard, fighting the sting in her eyes. "I thought telling you would make things easier." She laughed bitterly. "But I guess I was incorrect."
She turned away. She would not let him see her fall.
"Avery..."
He didn't, however, follow. He didn't grab for her. He did not attempt to halt her.
Behind her the door shut softly with a thud that sounded more like a scream.
---
Avery was enveloped in the cool evening
air like a blanket that offered no warming effect. She had erratic, rapid footsteps like she was fleeing something she couldn't outrun.
Her thoughts replayed everything she had heard that day—the nurse warning her she was late, the self-administered test, the principal's warning tone, and now Landon's frigid denial. Every memory felt like a weight she could not raise resting against her chest.
She squeezed her jaw and blinked quickly to prevent the tears that were about to fall. Not here. Neither publicly. She refused to break where strangers could see her. Holding her bag like a shield, she drew it closer.
She hardly saw cars driving past,
headlights flashing across her face. Her brain seemed to move slower than her feet, her ears full of cotton.
I mean it cannot be mine.
His voice reverberated repeatedly, cutting her every time.
She breathed through her nostrils as she crossed rapidly the main crossroads, attempting to remain calm. Her legs nearly felt numb, weighty. Keeping walking, she gasped as she brushed her face with the back of her hand.
The familiar houses seemed far away by the time she arrived at her community. She was unsure what she would say if someone at home enquired about her day. She lacked direction on pretending to be fine.
She pushed the gate open, her hands shaking. For a moment she stood still, gazing at the front gate as though it was the entry to another conflict.
She breathed slowly, steadily to steady herself.
She then went inside with terror, perplexity, and a loneliness so profound she felt it in her bones.