But it’s been forty days.
Fortydays.
Fuck. I—fuck.
I sink down onto the closed toilet lid as all the pieces click into place like some horrible puzzle.
The nausea. The exhaustion that’s been dragging at me for days. The way my breasts have been so tender I can barely stand to wear a bra. The crying—god, thecrying. I cried watching a nature documentary yesterday because a baby elephant reunited with its mother. A fuckingelephant.
And we’ve been having sex. A lot of sex.Unprotectedsex.
That first time in his office—we definitely didn’t use anything. Come to think of it, we haven’t used anything at all. I was onbirth control before the wedding, but I haven’t had access to my pills since Leo took me. And we just…we didn’t talk about it. We got caught up in each other and we didn’t think and now?—
Now I might be pregnant.
The word echoes in my head, getting louder each time. Pregnant. Pregnant.Pregnant.
With Leo Santoro’s baby.
My hands start to shake violently, and my chest is tight. I press my palms against my thighs, trying to steady myself and not completely spiral.
Breathe, Emma. Breathe.
I need to know for sure. I need to take a test before I let myself panic about this.
But how the hell am I supposed to get a pregnancy test?
I can’t exactly go up to Rosa or any of the staff and say, “Pardon me, can you take me to the store so I can get a pregnancy test?” I almost laugh at the thought, the sound coming out slightly hysterical. I can just imagine the look on Rosa’s face. The gossip that would spread through the house in minutes. Leo would find out before I even know for sure.
No. Absolutely not.
I stand up and start pacing the bathroom, my hands wringing together, my mind racing. There has to be a way. There has to be some way to get a test without everyone knowing, without?—
The memory hits me suddenly. Two days ago. I was walking past one of the maids’ bathrooms and I heard voices. Maria and Beatrice, talking in hushed, worried tones.
Maria thought she might be pregnant. Her period was late and she was terrified because she wasn’t married and she and her boyfriend were barely making ends meet as it was. Beatrice had been comforting her, telling her not to panic yet, that she had pregnancy tests hidden in the bathroom cabinet from a scare she’d had months ago.
I’d kept walking, not wanting to eavesdrop, but I remember hearing Maria say she’d take one that night. And the next day I’d seen her smiling, laughing with Beatrice, the tension gone from her shoulders.
It had been negative.
But Beatrice had said she kept extras. Just in case.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I’m on the move.
I throw on yoga pants and a t-shirt and slip out of the bedroom and into the hallway, my heart pounding.
The house is quiet. Most of the staff don’t arrive until nine, and it’s barely eight now.
I force myself to walk normally down the hallway even though every instinct is screaming at me to run. The maids’ bathroom is tucked away near the service stairs, and it’s small and utilitarian. A place the family never goes.
I slip inside and lock the door behind me, my hands shaking so badly I can barely turn the lock. The click seems impossibly loud in the silence.
The cabinet under the sink is cluttered with cleaning supplies, extra rolls of toilet paper, boxes of tissues, and feminine hygiene products. I rifle through it frantically, pushing things aside, my heart pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears.
Please be here. Please please please be here.
There—shoved to the very back behind a bottle of bleach—a box of pregnancy tests. The cardboard is slightly bent, the edges worn. I snatch the box and open it. There are three tests left in the package.