Early the next morning, Justin sat straight up—and just made a beeline for the toilet. His hacking woke me, and I ran to see if I could be of any help.
"Sunshine?" I asked him, as I pulled him up. "Are—are you all right?"
"You don't suppose—"
As I ran a brush over the toilet and cleaned it, it occurred to me what he was asking. "Ohh—I suppose anything's possible, Sunshine," I replied, trying to reassure him, even though I'd never heard of the concept myself.
I saw "that" look return to his eyes, a look I hadn't seen since he was bashed after the prom. "I—I'm pregnant?"
There was only one way to find out…
The next morning, as we walked out of the doctor's office, Justin looked as if he'd seen a ghost. "I guess that confirms it," he whispered. "I am indeed pregnant."
He looked at me, and tears rolled down his face. "I—I don't suppose—"
"Hey," I said, lifting his face so our eyes met, "we've been through a lot, haven't we?"
"Yeah," he said, nodding weakly.
"How long did it take me to admit—out loud—that I loved you?"
"Five years."
"And would I have come all the way to New York to stand by you after that bombing if I didn't love you so much?"
Justin knew I was right. "N-no," he replied.
"So do you think one little pregnancy—even if it's yours—could ever make me stop loving you?"
Slowly, it returned—his Sunshine smile. "No," he replied, "though you have to admit, it does sound pretty freaky."
"I know," I said, "but don't worry. You're my husband—and I will be there for you."