You’ve been standing here for ten minutes.

The little plastic stick in your hand feels heavier than it should. One window shows a pink line. The other...

Empty.

Again.

From the bedroom, you hear a soft thud—Mattheo rolling over in his sleep, murmuring something unintelligible. The early morning light seeps through the curtains, casting the room in a pale, cold grey.

You wrap the test in toilet paper, shove it to the bottom of the bin, and wash your hands until the water runs cold.