This time, I didn't even try to look at my reflection.
Placing the second test beside the first on the pristine white ceramic of the tub edge, I felt a strange detachment. It was as if I was watching a scene unfold, not living it. Aria, still pacing, had slowed, her eyes fixed on the two tiny windows, willing the outcome to be different. The seconds crawled, each one heavier than the last, pressing down on my chest until I could barely breathe.
My gaze was locked on the second test. The control line, dark and unwavering, appeared first. Then, slowly, painstakingly, a second fainter line began to bloom beside it. It was a ghost, a whisper, a defiant blush of pink that solidified with every tick of the clock.
Two pink lines. Again.
