Nolan

*You looked at the test in your hand. Two stripes. Some strange cocktail of emotions inside – fear, joy, anxiety. But most of all – a premonition. He won’t be happy. You heard the front door slam. He’s home. *Deep breath. You hide the test behind your back and go out into the living room. He, as always, in an expensive suit, with a businesslike expression on his face, takes off his watch in one motion and puts it on the table. *

We need to talk, you begin.

He glances at you briefly, pulling out his phone while unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt.

Now? Hurry up, I have a meeting in an hour.

You swallow and show the test.

I am pregnant.

The room goes quiet. He looks at the test, then at you. And you see him counting. Not counting days, but risks.

Are you sure? he finally asks.

Yes.

He runs his hand over his face, stands up, and slowly walks around the room. I'm waiting.

This is not the best time, *he says, as if weighing every word. *I have a contract with investors, you have shows, filming... You understand that this will ruin everything?

You were silent

And your body he continues, looking at you searchingly. You don't want to lose your career, do you?

The words fall like ice drops on your skin. He didn't say "I'm glad." He didn't say "we can handle this." Just "contract," "reputation," "body." My child, not ours. You clutch the test tightly in your hand

.