Ok, here is the newest story. I hope you like. I know I have alot of stories right now but this one was one I wrote a while ago and now am posting it.

Thanks to RatedrKjErIcHo for your help on this one.

Disclaimer: I do not own the WWE or the wrestlers in this story. I own only my ocs. This story if fiction and is to be taken that way.

Chapter One: Mysterious Ways

Think about a trauma, like a car crash, sudden and unexpected. People stare, some might even stop to ask what happened but no one can really help. The deed has been done. The car crashed. Nothing will ever be the same. Your perspective has been radically changed. You have been radically changed. And suddenly life is wrought with consequences you never imagined because you never imagined the inciting incident. You ask yourself: Why didn't I ever imagine that I could be in a car crash? Why didn't I ever imagine that I could get pregnant even though I was on the pill?

I was thirty years old the morning I discovered I was pregnant. Going to have a baby. Knocked up. In the family way. The morning I learned I had a bun in the oven. The morning I found out that I was expecting a blessed event, in other words, the end of my life as I knew it.

My name is Brianne Trufan and this is my story. At least, the part of my story during which everything just exploded. Back to that auspicious morning. My first thought after dropping the pink plastic stick into the white porcelain sink was: Oh my God, this can't be happening.

My second thought, after retrieving the stick to give it one more hard look, was: Of course this can be happening. I had sex. I missed my period. So of course I'm pregnant. This is what happens.

My third thought, after tossing the offending stick into the brushed-aluminum trashcan was: What will Wade say!

Wade Barrett was my fiancé. From the day I met him he'd declared pretty strongly that he did not want children. And when we got engaged, Wade reminded me that a family of two—Wade and me—was all the family he wanted. And I'd gone along with that.

Except for maybe a dog, I'd suggested. A small dog, one with short hair so the shedding problem would be minimal. Wade had agreed. Maybe a dog. A small, nondestructive dog. The kind you can train to pee on newspaper.

Well, I thought that awful morning in April, a baby most certainly isn't a dog, and although it is small, it most certainly is destructive. It spits up on your best silk blouse; siphons your bank account in an alarming way; and puts a firm, wailing, pooping end to your sex life. The thing that had gotten you into trouble in the first place. Sex with a man.

I remember thinking that I should call Wade right away. I assumed he hadn't left the condo for his office yet; Wade is never his best in the morning. I belted my robe more tightly around my middle and hurried from the bathroom. With a practiced motion I snatched my cell phone from the kitchen counter where it had been recharging for the past eight hours. The number was loaded; I hit the proper button. A woman's voice answered on the first ring.

"Elise," I said. "I need to talk to you."

Please Reivew. A very short beginning I know. But more to come.