Page 16 of Iridescent
I force myself to meet my gaze in the mirror. A pale, wide-eyed woman stares back. I look… fragile. There’s a new tension in my face I barely recognize, as if I might break with either outcome. My dark hair is a tangled mess around my shoulders, and there are faint shadows under my gray eyes, despite all the sleep I’ve been getting.
My eyes slide to my body. The oversized ivory sleep shirt I’m wearing hangs loose, but I swear I catch sight of a subtle swell beneath the fabric that wasn’t there before. Is it wishful thinking?
Slowly, I lift the hem of my shirt, gathering it up just under my breasts. My breath hitches. In the mirror, under the soft light, I can almost see it—a gentle curve where my flat stomach used to be.
I run my trembling fingers over my abdomen, tracing the possibilities.
The skin there is warm, silken, unmarked—except for one thing. A thin, silvery scar runs down the center of my abdomen, extending several inches below my navel. The physical reminder of the worst night of my life. I brush my fingertips over it, and the memories rush in like a tide.
The roar of the crowd. Blinding lights overhead. The crack of a punch, then the sickening thud of my body hitting the mat. A white-hot pain ripped through my abdomen. Everything went black.
I blink hard, forcing the memories back. I was twenty-three and invincible, a rising star in the boxing world with a shot at a national title. One minute, I was trading blows in the final round. The next, I woke in a hospital bed, disoriented, with that scar split across my stomach and a doctor speaking in a voice far too gentle for words that heavy.
There had been damage to my abdomen. Emergency surgery. A surgeontelling me I was lucky to be alive in the same measured voice she used to explain what luck had cost me.
Afterward, she told me pregnancy might not come easily.
Not impossible.
Difficult.
For years, I treated that distinction like a verdict I could appeal through sheer will.
Recovery was its own battle. Learning to trust my body again was another. Finding the courage to try after everything that happened took longer than I ever admitted, but I did.
Xavier was there through all of it. He promised we’d face it together.
For a long time, we did.
Until we didn’t.
My palms press gently against the smooth plane of my stomach, and I close my eyes, imagining telling him.
I picture his eyes lighting with astonishment, his arms pulling me close, a laugh breaking from him.
God, how long has it been since I last heard him laugh?
Long enough that I’m not sure I remember the sound anymore.
The timer on my phone chimes, startling me.
I whirl around and nearly knock a bottle of lotion from the counter.
Three minutes.
My hand shoots out to silence the alarm.
I stare at it as if it’s a venomous snake, coiled and ready to strike.
Two possibilities: one where I can finally breathe, and one where I break all over again.
A shudder runs through me, stealing the air from my lungs.
Eyes closed, I send one last desperate plea to the universe—to any god or fate or chance that might be listening.
“Please,” I whisper.
My heart pounds in my ears as I turn the test over.
