I hadn't realized that in five years, even without ever meeting his friends or family, we had accumulated so many memories. Handmade rings we'd crafted together. Pixel-art bead sprites we'd assembled on rainy afternoons. Strips of photo booth pictures capturing smiles that now felt like lies.
There was too much. Too much history.
I packed until my body ached and my mind went numb. I packed until I couldn't stand the sight of anything that reminded me of him.
The day before Matthew was scheduled to return, my body finally gave out.
I fainted in the living room.
The housekeeper found me when she arrived to prepare dinner. She rushed me to the hospital for a full checkup, her worried voice fading in and out of my consciousness.
The results came back in less than an hour.
"Low blood sugar," the doctor said, glancing at my chart. "And you're four weeks pregnant."
The housekeeper's face lit up. She clasped her hands together, beaming. "Oh, this is wonderful news! I have to tell Mr. James immediately—"
"No." I reached out, grabbing her arm. My hand was weak, but my grip was iron. "Don't say anything. There's no need."