What She Already Knows

The bathroom light buzzed faintly above her, casting a soft hum that filled the silence. Clara sat on the closed lid of the toilet, one hand wrapped tightly around a warm cup of water she hadn't touched, the other resting flat over her abdomen like it had been doing so often lately. Not protectively. Not out of habit. But with a kind of unspoken reverence.

The test sat on the counter.

She wasn't waiting for the result. She already knew.

Her body had known before her mind ever caught up. The quiet waves of exhaustion that came out of nowhere. The smell of coffee suddenly too sharp. The way she teared up during a pet food commercial three nights ago. It hadn't been one moment—it had been hundreds of tiny signs.

She had felt it. All of it.

So why take the test again?

It wasn't about confirmation. It wasn't about proof.

It was about giving herself a moment. A still point. A breath where the world didn't press in and Julian didn't linger like a half-opened door in her mind.

A moment where she could claim this as hers.

Not theirs. Not the media's. Not something whispered behind closed doors in boardrooms she didn't belong to.

This was hers.

The result had been there for a full minute now. Still. Steady.

Pregnant.

Still pregnant.

Clara exhaled slowly, her shoulders sagging—not from defeat, but from release. She hadn't realized how tightly she had been holding everything inside.

Maybe it was the past few days. Julian's silence. The strange stares from strangers at the café yesterday. The call she missed from her publisher that she still hadn't returned.

Everything had been moving so fast. Too fast.

And for one brief second this morning, with her hand brushing over the drawer where she kept spare toiletries, she saw the unopened box and paused. Something inside her had whispered, slow down.

So she did.

Now here she was, sitting in her oversized t-shirt and socks, on a bathroom floor that smelled faintly of lavender and lemon cleanser. The windows were closed but a draft moved through the walls as if the apartment itself was trying to settle.

Her fingers brushed the edge of the test again.

No surprise. No drama. Just a quiet yes that wrapped around her ribs and settled into the parts of her heart that had been clenched for days.

A knock sounded on the door, soft and familiar.

"Clara?" Harper's voice. "Tea's ready."

"I'll be out in a minute," Clara called back, voice gentle.

She looked in the mirror. Not for reassurance. Not for vanity. But to meet herself.

She was tired. Her hair was a little messy. There was a faint line at the edge of her brow where she'd been frowning too much lately.

But her eyes were clear.

And in that moment, she knew—

She wasn't scared.

This wasn't panic. This wasn't regret.

It was just a moment she needed to stand still, to remember this feeling before the world started spinning again.

The test stayed on the counter as she stood, fingers lingering for one last second over her belly.

Not as a question. But as a promise.

"I've got you," she whispered.

Then she opened the door and stepped back into the world.

Harper handed Clara the cup of tea without asking a single question. That was one of the reasons Clara had chosen to come here in the first place. Not because Harper was her best friend. But because Harper knew how to hold silence without filling it with noise.

They sat on opposite ends of the couch, the soft flicker of morning light creeping in through gauzy curtains. Clara's fingers curled around the mug. The heat seeped slowly into her skin.

Harper finally spoke, but her voice was low, unhurried. "So… are you okay?"

Clara nodded. "Yeah." Then she paused. "I mean… I will be."

There was no need to say more.

The kettle clicked off behind them, forgotten. Somewhere, someone outside was dragging a trolley across uneven pavement. It was a normal Sunday morning. And yet nothing about it felt normal anymore.

Harper shifted, pulling one leg underneath her. "You don't have to tell me anything. But if you want to talk about it… I'm here."

Clara smiled faintly. "I took the test again."

Harper didn't flinch. "You didn't need to, did you?"

"No," Clara said quietly. "I already knew."

Harper looked at her, then leaned over and gently squeezed her hand. No advice. No probing. Just presence.

That, more than anything, almost made Clara cry.

"I think I needed to feel like I was choosing it," Clara admitted. "Not just reacting to everything happening around me. Not just being swept along in Julian's orbit or the media or whatever is coming next."

Harper nodded. "You are choosing it."

Silence settled between them again.

"I haven't told him yet," Clara said softly. "Not really. He knows. But we haven't really talked about it."

"You're allowed to wait until you're ready."

Clara hesitated. "What if I'm never ready?"

Harper's answer came easily. "Then you take it one moment at a time. You don't have to be ready for everything all at once."

That truth sank into Clara like a warm tide.

She had always felt the need to be composed. To have a plan. To figure out the next five steps before the first one even finished. But this—this wasn't something she could schedule or logic her way through.

This was hers.

And it was going to unfold whether or not she had all the answers.

She took a slow sip of tea, the chamomile calming something deeper than just nerves.

"I think I'm going to write again," she said suddenly.

Harper looked up, surprised. "Your book?"

Clara nodded. "Not for anyone else. Not for a publisher. Just for me. I want to remember this. Not just the fear or the chaos or Julian. But this feeling. Right now."

Harper's smile was quiet but proud. "Good."

Outside, a breeze stirred the wind chimes on the balcony.

The world was still spinning. But Clara was starting to feel like her feet were on the ground again.

And that mattered more than anything.

Julian sat in his car outside Harper's building, the engine off but the keys still in the ignition.

He hadn't planned to drive there. His body just moved. Somewhere between the mess of morning meetings, the unread messages, and the memory of Clara walking away from him the night before, he found himself here.

Not knocking. Not texting. Just sitting.

His hands were clenched loosely around the steering wheel, elbows resting on either side, like he might drive off at any second. But he didn't.

He stayed.

Inside the building, she was probably sitting with Harper. Maybe drinking tea. Maybe talking about him. Maybe not talking at all.

Julian exhaled. The air inside the car felt heavier than it should.

He wasn't sure if he wanted to see her or just know she was okay.

Last night had left something raw between them. Not a break, not quite. But a shift. A turning of the tide that felt too quiet to stop.

He had not followed her because he had wanted to give her space. But now that she was out of reach, he found himself desperate to be close again.

The truth was no longer something he could outrun.

And neither was the past.

His phone vibrated on the passenger seat. A message flashed briefly across the screen.

Vincent:

"They know. Pull your people out before it goes public."

Julian didn't even blink. He stared at the message, but his thoughts were not on Vincent. Not yet.

He looked up at Harper's apartment windows. He couldn't see anything from where he was parked, but he imagined Clara inside, sitting with her head down, palms around a cup, looking a little tired and entirely too brave.

She didn't need him to fix this.

But he needed to stop letting his silence break everything between them.

Julian reached for the door handle.

His fingers hesitated.

Then his phone buzzed again. This time, it was not from Vincent.

It was an unknown number. No name.

Just a single sentence.

"You have twenty-four hours before her name hits the papers."

Julian froze.

The silence inside the car sharpened.

Not the comforting kind that wrapped around you like a blanket. This silence was jagged. Heavy. Like the last breath before a storm.

And outside, the sky was already darkening.