My hands shake as I reach into the sink. The tests are scattered across the white porcelain.
I gather them in my palm.
Turn back to face him.
And hold them out.
Bruno goes still.
Completely, utterly still.
His eyes fix on the tests in my hand.
"What the fuck."
The words come out flat. Hollow.
I can't read his face.
I can't read anything.
He just stares at the tests like they're written in a language he doesn't understand.
"Bruno—"
"What the fuck."
He says it again. Same tone. Same emptiness.
My hand trembles. The tests rattle against each other.
"I just found out," I say. "Ten minutes ago. I was going to tell you, I just—I needed a moment to?—"
"You're pregnant."
Not a question.
A statement.
I nod.
Bruno's chest rises. Falls. His hands grip the armrests so hard I hear the leather creak.
"You're pregnant," he repeats. "With my?—"
He stops.
Swallows.
His Adam's apple bobs in his throat.
"With my baby."
"Yes."
The word hangs in the air between us.
Bruno doesn't move.