Sleep does not come easily that night, for him. He tosses, and turns most of the night. He frequently has to untwist his covers, and attempt to get comfortable again. His bed seems empty, and his apartment seems to quiet. When he does fall asleep all he sees is her face. His slumber is short lived. The sound of nearby sirens bring him back to a state of consciousness. He glances at his alarm clock. It tells him that it's too early go get out of bed, and most likely too late to go back to sleep.

The instant that she closes her eyes the events of her day begin to replay. She tries to push the thoughts from her mind, but they play back in a loop as if they're on repeat. Her heads spins as she tries to make sense of what's happening to her. She tosses, and turns. Sleep seems like an unattainable goal as she reaches her third hour in bed, struggling to fall asleep.

She wakes up at three o'clock in the morning for the third day in a row. She shoots out of her bed like a rocket. The covers fall on the ground as she pushes them aside, in an attempt to exit the bed quickly. She makes it to the bathroom just in time to find herself intimately acquainted with the porcelain toilet bowl. She's barely slept in days. A body gripping sense of nausea seems to be controlling her life. She remains in the bathroom, lying on the rug on the cold tile floor, in fear that if she's leaves the room she won't make it back in time. She falls asleep for a couple of hours. The second that she returns to consciousness the nausea overpowers her. She proceeds to empty the contents of her stomach into the toilet once again.

A few hours later she sits in the waiting room of her doctor's office. Her throat is sore from all the acid she has expelled in the past few days. Her stomach growls, but she refuses to eat. The only thing she can manage to keep down is clear liquid. The nurse calls her name, and she exits the waiting room. The nurse obtains her height, weight, and vital signs. She draws a blood sample, and leaves the room.

She waits in the exam room for what seems like an eternity. She chokes back vomit at least once. Finally her physician enters the room. He closes the door, and reads through her chart. He examines her closely. Before he can begin to ask any questions there is a knock on the door. The nurse enters the room, and hands him lab results. He reads them, and places them on her chart.

"Sarah how long has this been going on?"

"Three days."

"What do you think is going on?"

"I think that I've got food poisoning. I ate Thai food three nights ago, and I've been sick ever since."

"You don't have food poisoning," he reveals.

"So what is it? A virus?"

"It's not a virus."

"Please tell me that there is something that you can do. I don't know how much longer I can go on like this. I can't keep anything down."

"Have you been feeling fatigued?"

"Yes. I've been puking for three days," she confirms.

"What other symptoms have you been having?"

"That's it," she insists.

"I got some of your lab results back."

"So then you know what's wrong?"

"When was the first day of your last menstrual period?" He probes.

She furrows her brow, and tries to recall, "Why are you asking?"

"It is important that you remember."

"Why?"

"There isn't much I can do for you, other than give you an anti-emetic, and I have a feeling that you won't take it."

"I'll take anything, if it just stops."

"I'll prescribe you some Zofran, but I have to caution you that it is a pregnancy category B."

"I don't know what that means, or why it matters."

"It means that there have not been studies done on pregnant women to determine the effects on a fetus."

She furrows her brow, and her heart skips a beat, "Why are you telling me this?"

"You're pregnant."

"I'm what?!"

"Mac, you're pregnant."

"There has been some sort of mistake," she argues.

"Your blood test was positive," he reveals.

"I…" her mouth suddenly feels very dry.

"I am going to write you a prescription for prenatal vitamins, and the Zofran should you choose to take it. You need to follow up with your OB/GYN."

When she gets home from the pharmacy she carries the bag into the bathroom with her. She dumps the contents of the bag onto the counter. She glances at a bottle of pre-natal vitamins, and a bottle of Zofran. She ignores them, and rips open the box with a pregnancy test inside. She proceeds to read the directions. She soaks the plastic stick in urine, and waits for it to change colors. Once she's certain that it has been long enough she takes the stick off the counter. The bright pink plus sign stares back at her. She swallows hard, suddenly feeling very nauseous. She manages to keep from getting sick.

"Shit," she mutters under her breath. Her nausea taunts her. She glances at the bottle of Zofran. It calls her name. All she wants is just a little relief. She has never felt this sick in her entire life, not even when she was an active alcoholic. She just wants all of this to go away. She unscrews the lid from the pill bottle. She turns on the faucet, and gets a sip of cold water. She stares at herself in the mirror. She swallows the prenatal vitamin.