˜W

Something was wrong with Rebekah. Lewis had noticed it for weeks. She looked exhausted. Pale. Distant. She stopped drinking coffee. Barely touched her food. Disappeared whenever nausea hit, always returning with a forced smile and a weak excuse. At first, he ignored it. Then he started counting the weeks. And suddenly, a thought he couldn’t shake took root. No. It couldn’t be. Could it? The possibility followed him everywhere. Every glance. Every conversation. Every time she looked away too quickly when he entered a room. One evening, Lewis was walking through a quiet corridor at the Mercedes factory when he saw someone collapsed against the wall. His heart immediately dropped. “Rebekah?” No response. He rushed toward her. She was unconscious. One hand rested over her stomach. The other was wrapped tightly around something small and white. Lewis froze. His pulse thundered in his ears. Slowly, he reached for it. Every terrible possibility raced through his mind. Then he saw what it was. A pregnancy test. His stomach twisted. For a moment, he couldn’t bring himself to look at the result. Because somehow he already knew. With shaking fingers, he turned it over. Two pink lines. Silence. The weeks of suspicion. The late-night doubts. The impossible questions. Answered. A soft gasp pulled his attention away. Rebekah’s eyes fluttered open. The moment she saw the test in his hand, the color drained from her face. Neither of them spoke. Then Lewis reached for her trembling hand. “You should have told me.” His voice was barely above a whisper. Because suddenly, this wasn’t about one night anymore. It was about what came after. And neither of their lives would ever be the same.