Chapter 5 - Two Pink Lines
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February arrived, cold and unforgiving.
Clare buried herself in a massive federal policy brief, working past midnight and surviving on bad diner coffee. Nathaniel stayed by her side whenever he could, reviewing her arguments and ordering her actual meals.
But as the weeks passed, Clare began to look paler. She was exhausted, constantly nauseous, and her usual sharp focus was slipping.
"You need to sleep, Clare," Nathaniel urged one evening, rubbing her shoulders as she stared at her laptop.
"I will. After I finish this section on secondary-market dynamics," she muttered, before suddenly rushing to the bathroom.
Nathaniel followed her, holding her hair back as she was sick into the sink.
"That's it," he said. "I'm calling a doctor."
"No," Clare whispered, splashing cold water on her face. She looked at him in the mirror, her brown eyes wide with a terrifying realization. "I don't need a doctor. I need a pharmacy."
An hour later, Nathaniel sat on the edge of her bathtub, staring at the small plastic stick resting on the counter.
Two pink lines.
The silence in the bathroom was absolute. The noise of the Brooklyn streets outside faded away.
Clare slid down the wall, burying her face in her hands. "This wasn't supposed to happen. Not now. Not with everything going on with your family."
Nathaniel knelt in front of her. He gently pulled her hands away from her face and looked into her eyes. The fear was there, but beneath it, an overwhelming wave of fierce, unyielding protectiveness washed over him.
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"Clare," he said softly, his voice trembling for the first time in his adult life. "We are going to be okay. I swear to you. I will protect you both."
But as he held her, the echo of his mother's threat rang in his ears.
