Pink. I don't especially like pink. I wear it occasionally, but as I stare at this color I know I wouldn't look good in it.
Two little pink lines. I bite my lip and reach for the box. Pink lines. Pink box. White stick. I glance in the mirror and my face is almost as white as the stick.
My hands are shaking and I think I'm going to be sick. I swallow though, and turn the box over. Two lines...
"Chloe?"
I freeze. He shouldn't be home for a few more hours. I don't know what to do. It doesn't really matter because his voice is coming from the other side of the door and he's knocking lightly on it and the knob is turning.
"Honey, what-" he stops, staring at me.
I don't have the faintest idea what I'm supposed to do.
He comes and kneels in front of me, "Chloe, why didn't you say anything to me before?" he asks, his touch is gentle as his hand comes to rest on my knee.
"I didn't-It didn't occur to me until this morning. Martha was saying something about never having grandchildren because Clark's-" I stop, because I'm rambling and I don't want to do that, I just don't know what to do with Lex looking at me like that.
His eyes are wide, and I know what he wants those two lines to mean. I don't know if I'm ready for that. I don't even know if I'm ready to look at the thing.
"What does it say?"
I hand it to him, along with the box, "I can't-"
He squints, trying to read it, because he won't wear the glasses he just got. Vanity.
"Chloe-" his voice catches, and he has tears in his eyes and I know what the two lines mean.
He tosses the stick and box on to the counter and kisses me, pulling me into his arms.
He's crying and I start to cry, but it's because I'm scared and confused and this is happening to me and my body and I didn't ask for it.
"But- wait. Did you-Chloe, did you go off the pill?" his eyes slide to the round pink disk on the sink.
I shake my head, "I don't know how this happened Lex. I'm sorry-"
"No, Chloe, don't say that. We're ready for this, aren't we?"
I rack my brain. I'm twenty-five years old. He's thirty-two. We've been married for three years. He travels about five months out of the year. We try and have dinner together twice a week. Most of those nights he doesn't make it home before I fall asleep. I just quit my dream job so we could move back to Smallville. I don't know how to answer his question.
"We'll figure it out," I finally say, because he looks like he needs to hear it.
"I love you," he says, kissing me almost reverently.
"I love you too," I say because I know he needs to hear it now. Then I'm opening my mouth again and I don't know what I'm saying until I've said it, "I'm scared Lex. I don't know how to be a mother."
"If it makes you feel any better I don't know how to be a father," he offers, "We're in this together."
"I know we are," I wrap my arms around his neck, "I love you so much," this time I say it for me because I need to love him right now. Lex has been the one constant in my life for the last decade. He's been kind and dependable and patient since the day I met him. Even in our rough spots I knew I could depend on him more than any one. He's never depended on me, never needed to, because he's strong enough for both of us. He needs me for this now though. This is something he can't do. So I hug him tighter. I don't want this, but I'll do it for him.