James

"I'm late."

"What do you mean, you're late?" The words slipped past my lips in a much harsher tone than I'd intended.

"I mean, I should have started my period four days ago, and it hasn't come. I'm late." The fear in my girlfriend's eyes was more crushing than the thought of her being pregnant our sophomore year in college.

"Maybe it's just stress." I'd heard stress could change the body's chemistry, surely it could change a woman's monthly cycle.

"I'm on the Pill, James. It should be like clockwork."

"Exactly, you're on the Pill. So there's no way you could be pregnant." I wanted to believe those words, but even as a guy, I wasn't stupid enough to believe anything was foolproof except abstinence. And we were far from celibate.

She stared at me in disbelief. "You're not really that naïve, right?" Her clipped tone gave me more insight into her trepidation than the fear in her eyes.

I took her into my arms, pulling her onto my lap, and sat on the bed. Her thin arms wrapped around my midsection, and her head met the hollow of my neck. When I kissed the top of her head, she relaxed into my embrace.

"I get that the timing would be horrible, but is having a child with me the end of the world?" We'd never had a conversation about kids, and I wasn't excited about having it now. It was a reality we might have to face sooner rather than later, and we had to discuss where she stood.

Her shoulders rose as she inhaled deeply. When she finally spoke, her words were an insecure whisper. "James, I don't want children."

I pressed my cheek against the top of her head and smiled against her scalp. "I'm not gung-ho on having them right now, either. But if that's what happens, we can make the best of it."

She pulled back so I could see her face. The tears streaming down her cheeks nearly broke me.

"Whoa, don't cry, Cora. We'll get through this. Regardless of what happens, I promise I'll be right by your side. It's not like I'm going to be a dead-beat dad or anything." I tried to joke and lighten the situation to no avail.

"I don't mean I don't want kids now. I mean ever."

The expression on my face fell, as did my heart. I couldn't imagine this beautiful creature never bringing life into the world. I'd had dreams about what our children would look like. A boy and a girl. They were amazing in my mind, and there had never been a part of me that hadn't believed they would be part of our lives in the future.

My hand brushed her dark hair from her face, and I tucked it behind her ear. "Why?" Thankfully, the word had come out soft and sincere, and not flabbergasted and dumbfounded. I couldn't understand why a woman wouldn't desire children, especially not one as smart and beautiful as Cora. Maybe that was my sheltered, conservative upbringing, but I'd take a flogging from any feminist for believing it.

"My career after college is my focus. I want to enjoy being married and not have to worry about a little human who needs constant attention. I'm selfish. I'm not interested in sharing my time with anyone other than you."

I stared at her in disbelief. One part of my heart soared thinking she refused to take time away from me, while the other crashed in destruction thinking we wouldn't have a family outside of the two of us. And then it hit me like a ton of bricks—if she were pregnant, and she didn't want kids, that would either mean abortion or adoption. Neither of which I could handle.

She shook her head and closed her eyes. "No child deserves to be an orphan, James. I refuse to ever let my children go through that."

And there was the ugly, bitter truth. Her selfishness derived from the loss of the two people she'd loved the most and lost. Her heartache our junior year had been palpable. I'd never met them, yet they'd changed my life by giving me Cora, who I never would have encountered had they not passed away.

Cradling her face in my hands, I softly kissed her lips. "Sweetheart, that isn't likely to happen."

"It could. And I refuse to chance it. There's nothing you can say to change my mind on the subject. I just hope it's not a deal breaker for you."

Now wasn't the time to discuss whether or not this was a defining moment in our relationship. I would never leave Cora; we could always get a dog. "Maybe we should just get a test instead of worrying about something that might not be a looming threat."

She was normally the rational one. Finding myself in the situation to keep her calm was oddly rewarding given the circumstances. I relished the chances she gave me to be her knight in crumpled tinfoil.

After an hour of back and forth about her not being ready to find out if we'd completely derailed our lives, she finally conceded. I trudged down to the drugstore and left her at home nearly comatose. Maybe it was the shock of the possibility, but she wasn't in the state of mind to go out in public.

When I came back into our bedroom, I found the love of my life curled up in a ball on our bed, covered by her favorite blanket. Her bloodshot eyes had dried, and the tears no longer lingered, yet the pain in her features had me praying this was a false alarm. I knew in my heart I could never pick between my child and Cora, and if she took that decision away from me, I'd never forgive her.

"Come on." I held my hand out to her. I couldn't let her do this alone. I didn't care how awkward it would be with me watching her pee on a stick. I'd hold it between her legs if that was the level of support she needed.

My heart pounded, and the rest of the world was mute. The air around us became a vacuum that sucked up everything other than the stress of what we were about to do. She followed me into the bathroom, and I shut the door behind her. The crinkle of the plastic bag bounced off the walls. I could hear each breath the two of us took—they were ragged and labored. Once I had the box open, I handed her the test and read the instructions out loud. Before I could turn around, she had already peed on the stick and pulled her pants up. She handed it to me, I capped it, and then she tucked her tiny frame into my side for protection. Even though I didn't have any control over what showed up in that window, she found comfort in my embrace, and I willingly gave it to her.

I watched intently as the color crept up beneath the plastic, while Cora had closed her eyes and buried her face in my chest. It seemed I held my breath through the wait, and then I kept waiting and waiting. The second line never came. Glancing at my watch, I realized we'd been standing here for six minutes, and the test took three. We'd dodged the bullet, but now there was a bigger issue that hung in the air. And it wasn't one I was sure I could let go.

Time and distance from what could have been a life-altering mistake seemed to ease the confusion over children. At twenty years old, I wasn't interested in considering kids, and I honestly believed—when we graduated, had careers, were married and settled—Cora would change her mind. We didn't discuss it again, and subconsciously, I thought that was intentional on both our parts.