Crap, I might have just stopped breathing.

"Gabriella? Are you all right? First you're all giggly and now you're as white as a sheet." Troy studies me carefully, alarmed and slightly frightened.

I mutter, "Um, I'm fine." Then I take his hand and start to lead him towards the car.

"You're sure? All week, you've been telling me that you've been really tired, and you barely ate your lunch," he says.

"Yeah," I say uncertainly, "I'm fine."

When we get to the car, he opens the door for me before trotting off to the other side. I honestly do find it amazing that he still does all these sweet things, but I haven't failed to notice that these kind gestures have been very consistent these past few weeks. He's very subtly trying to tell me that he wants something, I know it, like he's a child trying to soften up his parents so they'll lift his punishment.

"Troy?" I hesitantly inquire, "Can we stop at the pharmacy so I can pick up something?"

"Of course," he answers.

Ten silent minutes pass and we're heading into a nearly-empty parking lot. "You can stay here," I tell him, "it won't take long."

He doesn't suspect a thing and merely replies, "Okay."

I stroll into the store and wander up an aisle, looking for home pregnancy tests. It's totally absurd that I'm looking for them—because I'm not pregnant; I can't be—but it's better to find out now than waking up later with a protruding belly.

Now that I've located them, my eyes widen a bit. Who knew there were so many different kinds? Okay, I did, seeing as I've watched different commercials for different ones, but I'd never thought that I'd actually be choosing which one to buy. And I'm only buying one. Because that one will tell me everything I need to know. Because that one will tell me I won't be going through nine months of mood swings, food cravings, and maternity clothes.

Remembering that Troy was waiting for me, I hurriedly snatch a professional looking pink one from the shelf, pay for it and stuff it in my purse.

No need to get him all excited for something that isn't true.

-----

Before today, I've never noticed how slow Troy drives. Or how slow all the people in front of us could drive. Everyone should know that you don't get between a woman and a bathroom when she's got a pregnancy test.

Finally, we arrive home and I rush to the bathroom. My clumsy fingers pry open my purse then I find myself staring at the box for a moment.

Tears prick my eyes, but why am I crying? If I am really pregnant then I should be happy. I have a stable job and I've been married for four years. This would be a perfect time to expand the family because I'm not some careless teenage girl who got a little too drunk and did something she regretted since her whole future could come crashing down if two blue lines showed up on the stick she just peed on.

There are women out there who pay thousands of dollars for fertilization treatments to have a baby, so why am I being so selfish? Do I not want to bring a new life into this world because I don't think I can handle possibly going through fifty hours of labour?

Darn my eleventh grade Geography teacher. Even though it wasn't her fault, ever since she came back from her maternity leave in a wheelchair, I've been afraid. Did she have to explain all the details about how the birth of her huge-headed, posterior baby damaged her muscles, back and legs? She repeatedly mentioned the pain throughout the rest of the year, too as if the horror story-telling session wasn't enough.

I calm myself and set the unopened box down on the edge of the sink.

Deep breaths, Gabriella. Stress can't be good for your (nonexistent) baby.

In one swift motion, I grab the test and rip it open. It's now or never, and although the latter sounds the most appealing, almost my whole body is screaming for me to get it over with now.

-----

Before today, I've never noticed how long three minutes can be. If my whole life had passed that slowly, I might as well be ten years old.

I hastily glance down at the stick.

Two lines.

That's negative, right?

Yeah, I was never good with sarcasm.

I sniffle, my heart still racing. Although I'm as scared as hell right now, at least one of us will be pleased. More like this-is-the-best-thing-to-ever-happen-to-me ecstatic.

"T-Troy?" I nervously call. What will he say? What if I've been reading his signs wrong?

"Yes, Gabi?" The house is silent after I hear the television turn off, but the sound of his footsteps are heard shortly after.

My numb fingers twist the door knob and I step out of the small room. "You should...see this."

He squints his eyes as I hold out the white stick. Wiping my sweaty palms on my pants, I don't know if I should be dreading his reaction or not. Finally, he asks, "What...is it?" His befuddled tone almost makes me laugh out loud.

"You've never seen a positive home pregnancy test before, Troy?"

More silence.

Then it's a colorful explosion of happiness.

"Gabi, that's amazing!" If his smile would get any wider, the ends of his mouth would reach his eyes. "This is really really wonderful! I can't believe this. We're going to have a baby!" He pulls me into a bone-crushing hug, nuzzling my cheek.

He notices my reluctance and releases me from his embrace. "Aren't you grateful, too?" he says.

A dizzy spell hits me and my pounding head starts filling with all these worries.

He repeats his question, yet for some reason, his voice has gotten all distant and is partially drowned out by the buzzing in my ears. I stutter, "Yeah, I just—I think I need to sit down."

But before I can even safely lower myself on to something solid, my knees give out, and I tumble into Troy's unsuspecting arms.

----

"Gabriella, are you okay? Say something." Someone is gently patting my cheek, causing my eyes to flutter open.

The second thing I notice is that I'm on mine and Troy's bed. Seeking comfort, I sink my head deeper into the pillow, allow myself to enjoy its softness and relax.

Thank goodness. Thank. Goodness.

"Gabri-ella," the voice croons again. Oh, it's just my husband.

"Oh, Troy," I titter, "I just had the most peculiar dream." Fully awake, I sit up and meet his gaze.

"Huh?" Confused, he informs me, "You were only out for about two minutes."

"What do you mean?" I question, equally perplexed.

"You passed out, don't you remember? I carried you to the bed." When I don't reply, Troy speaks again. "We were in front of the bathroom and you showed me the pregnancy test..."

Oh God. That was real? It actually happened?

Salty tears start to leak out of my eyes again and I'm breathing hard.

"Oh, I know, baby," he soothes me, "I'm so, so happy, too. We're going to be parents!"