Page 3 — The Test
The morning I took the pregnancy test, I almost didn’t believe what I was seeing.
I had been feeling strange for several days.
Tired.
Nauseated.
Emotional.
But at my age, I assumed it was hormonal.
I had no reason to believe I could actually be pregnant.
Still, something made me take the test.
I placed it on the bathroom counter.
Then I walked away.
I told myself I would wait five minutes.
After two minutes, I couldn’t stand it.
I returned.
Two lines.
I stared at them.
I checked the instructions.
Then I checked the test again.
Two lines.
My hands began shaking.
I sat down on the bathroom floor.
For several seconds, I couldn’t breathe.
Then I started laughing.
Then crying.
Then laughing again.
Thomas heard me.
“Margaret?”
I couldn’t answer.
He knocked.
“Are you okay?”
I opened the door.
He looked at my face.
Then at the test in my hand.
His expression changed.
“No.”
I nodded.
He stared at me.
“Are you serious?”
I handed him the test.
He looked at it for several seconds.
Then he sat down beside me.
Neither of us spoke.
Eventually, tears rolled down his cheeks.
“We’re really doing this,” he whispered.
I touched my stomach.
“We’re having a baby.”
For the first time in years, our house didn’t feel empty.
It felt like something was beginning.
But we also knew how much could go wrong.
The doctors warned us repeatedly.
My age alone made the pregnancy extremely complicated.
There were risks to my health.
Risks to the baby.
And risks we couldn’t predict.
But week after week, our baby continued to grow.
At twelve weeks, we saw the heartbeat.
At sixteen weeks, we heard it clearly.
At twenty weeks, the ultrasound technician smiled.
“Everything looks good.”
I cried.
Thomas squeezed my hand.
“Look,” he whispered.
On the screen, our baby moved.
I laughed through my tears.
After everything we had lost, there was finally something we could look forward to.
And then we learned something else.
It was a boy.
We decided to name him Liam.
