Terror

You slump down onto the floor. You rest your forehead on your knees, and you cry. Huge tears drip from your cheeks and nose to stain your pajamas. One hand is clutching your hair while the other limply holds the test.

In the midst of your sobs, there is a knock at the door.

"Honey, are you crying? Oh shit... what's happ- fuck, stupid question. Summer, can I come in?" The door handle rattles. You didn't lock it, and in bursts Gwen. She sees you on the floor and kneels down to hold you. You feel her pluck the test from your hand, and after a moment's pause you hear it clatter into the trashcan. "Oh baby, Summer... it's going to be ok. I'm here, I'm here..."

You continue to moan and shudder. Your hand, now free, rests on your tummy. Your amazing sculpted, flat tummy that is soon to swell and stretch to accommodate new life. Gwen is cooing and shushing as she holds you close. Bit by bit, you crumble into the embrace, away from your isolated, lonely misery into the warmth of a shared burden with your sister; this person who over the last day has become your closest ally and supporter.

Gradually your tears cease, and you and Gwen are sitting there, she wrapped around you, leaning against the bathroom wall.

"Poor baby," Gwen murmurs as she leans her head in and gently plants a kiss on your tear-streaked lips.