Chapter 2

TERRASHA POV

The night air hits different when you’re not trapped inside that house.

Cool. Open. Real.

I sit in the passenger seat of Greg’s car, the soft hum of the engine filling the quiet while the city lights blur past outside the window. For once, I’m not thinking about the estate… or Malcolm… or the damn pressure sitting on my chest every second of the day.

I’m just… here.

And that alone feels strange.

I glance down at myself for a second.

I actually took the time to get dressed.

Not forced.

Not told.

Not expected.

Just… because I wanted to.

A soft, fitted dress hugs my body, flowing gently over my stomach without hiding it. My braid is redone, long and thick down my back, a few loose strands framing my face. Simple jewelry. Nothing too loud.

But enough to remind me—

I’m still me.

Greg glances over for a second, then back at the road.

“…You look good,” he says casually.

Not in that fake, forced way people do.

Just… honest.

I tilt my head slightly, looking at him.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” I mutter.

He smirks a little. “I ain’t surprised. I just know you don’t usually get the chance to show it.”

That lands.

Because it’s true.

I lean back in my seat, crossing one leg over the other carefully.

“…Why you not with anybody?” I ask after a moment.

He raises a brow. “Where that come from?”

“I’m serious,” I say, turning toward him now. “You got options. I’ve seen them. Girls be looking at you all the time, and you just… don’t do nothing about it. Why?”

He exhales through his nose, shaking his head slightly.

“…Nobody was picked for me,” he says bluntly.

I frown. “What that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” he continues, his tone steady, “they were too busy setting Malcolm up with somebody. Making sure he had the ‘perfect’ wife. The ‘right’ match. The one who could carry the name.”

His grip tightens slightly on the wheel.

“…Which turned out to be a big-ass mistake.”

Silence fills the car for a second.

I look down at my hands.

“…Yeah,” I murmur. “You can say that again.”

Another pause.

Then I let out a small breath, my voice quieter now.

“…I wish I had been with somebody else.”

The words slip out before I can stop them.

Greg doesn’t respond right away.

The car slows at a light.

He glances over at me.

Just for a second.

“…Yeah?” he asks low.

I shrug, trying to play it off.

“Yeah,” I say, looking out the window. “Somebody who actually… sees me.”

I don’t look at him.

But I feel it.

That shift in the air.

Heavy.

Unspoken.

The light turns green.

He drives.

And neither of us says anything else about it.

The restaurant comes into view.

Italian.

Elegant as hell.

Warm lighting spilling out through the windows, soft music probably playing inside, people dressed nice, laughing, living.

Normal.

Greg pulls into the lot and parks.

“You good?” he asks, cutting the engine.

I nod slowly.

“Yeah… I’m good.”

But something feels… off.

A slight pressure in my chest.

Not pain.

Just… tight.

I ignore it.

We step out of the car.

He walks around to my side, opening the door for me.

I take his hand as I step out.

This time—

It doesn’t feel forced.

We walk toward the entrance together.

And for a second…

I feel okay.

The moment we step inside—

Everything shifts.

My chest tightens.

Harder this time.

Like something just grabbed hold of it.

I inhale slowly, trying to push it away.

Then I see them.

Across the room.

At a table near the window.

Malcolm.

Alice.

Laughing.

Close.

Too close.

Like they ain’t got a care in the world.

Greg goes still beside me.

I feel it instantly.

The anger rolling off him like heat.

“…You gotta be fucking kidding me,” he mutters under his breath.

My chest tightens again.

Sharper this time.

I swallow.

Trying to steady myself.

“I’m fine,” I whisper, even though he didn’t ask.

Greg turns toward me slightly, his expression already dark. “You sure?”

I nod quickly.

Too quickly.

“Yeah, I’m—”

The words cut off.

A sudden, sharp pain shoots through my chest.

My breath catches.

“…Wait—”

My hand flies up, clutching at my chest.

It feels like—

Like something is squeezing me from the inside.

Hard.

“Terrasha?” Greg’s voice sharpens instantly.

I try to breathe.

But it won’t come right.

“…Greg, I—”

The room tilts.

My vision blurs.

The lights stretch and smear.

I can hear people talking—

But it sounds far away.

Distant.

Like I’m underwater.

“…Shit—Terrasha!”

My knees buckle.

And before I can hit the ground—

Greg catches me.

His arms wrap around me, holding me up, pulling me against him.

“Hey—hey, stay with me,” he says, panic creeping into his voice now. “Look at me, T, stay with me—”

I try.

I really try.

But everything feels… heavy.

My grip on his shirt tightens weakly.

“…My chest…” I whisper.

Then everything goes dark.

Voices.

Loud.

Panicked.

“She passed out!”

“Call 911!”

“Move, move—give them space!”

Sirens.

Bright lights.

Hands lifting me.

A stretcher.

I can’t see clearly.

But I can feel movement.

Fast.

Urgent.

“…Heart rate’s irregular—”

“Get her oxygen—”

“She’s pregnant—be careful—”

Greg’s voice cuts through everything.

“I’m coming with her!”

Footsteps running.

Doors slamming.

The ambulance.

And the last thing I feel before everything fades again—

Is his hand gripping mine.

Tight.

Not letting go.

Everything feels… far.

Like I’m floating somewhere between sleep and waking up.

The sound hits me first.

Sirens.

Loud.

Sharp.

Too loud.

Then movement.

The whole world rocking under me, like I’m being carried through water instead of air.

My eyelids flutter.

Heavy.

I try to open them—

Light stabs through instantly.

White.

Blurry.

Shapes moving above me.

Voices overlapping.

“…she’s coming around—”

“Ma’am, can you hear me?”

“Keep her steady—watch her vitals—”

My chest feels tight.

Not like before.

Not crushing—

Just… sore.

Sensitive.

Like something is still gripping it, just not as hard.

Something presses against my face.

A tube.

Oxygen.

I inhale slowly, the cool air hitting my lungs different.

Cleaner.

Easier.

“…T… Terrasha…?”

That voice.

Greg.

I turn my head slightly.

It takes everything in me.

But I find him.

He’s right there.

Sitting close.

Too close for comfort in any normal situation.

But right now?

It feels like the only thing keeping me here.

His hand is wrapped around mine.

Tight.

Like he’s scared to let go.

His face looks… different.

Not calm.

Not collected.

Panicked.

“Hey—hey, stay with me,” he says, his voice lower now, rough around the edges. “Don’t be scaring me like that, alright?”

I try to speak.

My lips part.

But nothing comes out at first.

Just a weak breath.

“…Greg…” I finally whisper.

My voice sounds… small.

I hate that.

But I don’t got the strength to fix it.

His grip tightens slightly.

“I’m right here,” he says quickly. “I ain’t going nowhere, you hear me?”

I blink slowly.

Trying to stay focused.

Trying not to drift again.

But it’s hard.

Everything keeps pulling me under.

“…What happened…?” I murmur, barely able to get the words out.

“You passed out,” he says, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of my hand. “Clutched your chest and just… dropped. I caught you before you hit the ground.”

I swallow.

My throat feels dry.

“…Hurts…” I whisper.

He leans closer instantly.

“Where?” he asks.

“My chest…”

The words come out shaky.

Uneven.

He nods quickly, looking toward the paramedic.

“Her chest still hurting,” he says, his voice firm now. “Y’all need to check that again.”

“We’re monitoring her,” one of them responds, adjusting something beside me. “She’s stable for now, but we’ll run more tests once we get her in.”

Stable.

That word don’t comfort me like it should.

I close my eyes for a second.

Then open them again.

Because I don’t want to disappear.

Not right now.

Not like this.

The ambulance jerks slightly.

My body shifts with it.

And I feel it again.

That pull.

That darkness trying to drag me under.

My fingers twitch in Greg’s hand.

Weak.

“…Don’t go to sleep,” he says quickly, his voice softer now. “Stay with me, aight? Just look at me.”

I try.

God, I try.

But my eyes keep slipping.

My breathing feels heavier.

Slower.

“…I’m tired…” I whisper.

“I know,” he says, leaning closer, his forehead almost touching mine. “I know you are, but you gotta hold on a little longer, alright? Just a little longer.”

His voice cracks slightly at the end.

And that—

That’s what keeps me here.

Not the oxygen.

Not the noise.

Him.

“…Baby… stay with me.”

The word slips out of his mouth before he can stop it.

We both hear it.

I feel it.

Something soft.

Something unexpected.

My eyes flicker up to his.

He freezes for a second.

Like he’s about to take it back.

But I don’t let him.

I don’t have the energy for pride right now.

Or distance.

Or pretending.

So instead—

My fingers tighten weakly around his.

“…Okay…” I whisper.

Barely audible.

But enough.

His grip tightens again.

Relieved.

Like that one word just grounded him.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Yeah… that’s it. Stay with me.”

Tears slip from the corners of my eyes.

Slow.

Quiet.

I don’t even realize I’m crying at first.

Until one rolls down into my hair.

Then another.

Greg notices immediately.

“Hey… hey, don’t do that,” he says softly, his thumb brushing against my cheek, wiping one away. “You’re alright. I got you.”

I shake my head weakly.

“…I don’t feel right…” I whisper.

My voice breaks this time.

Real fear creeping in.

“I know,” he says, his voice steadying again, even though I can see the panic still sitting behind his eyes. “I know, but you’re not alone. You hear me? You not alone.”

My breathing stutters slightly.

The oxygen helps.

But the fear is still there.

Sitting in my chest.

Heavy.

“…The baby…” I whisper.

His jaw tightens.

But his voice stays calm.

“They’re gonna check him as soon as we get there,” he says. “He’s strong, alright? Just like you.”

I want to believe that.

I do.

So I nod.

Weak.

Slow.

The sirens keep going.

The lights flash through the windows.

Everything feels like it’s moving too fast—

And not fast enough at the same time.

Greg’s hand never leaves mine.

Not once.

Even when the paramedics adjust things.

Even when the stretcher shifts.

Even when I start drifting again.

He’s there.

Holding on.

Keeping me anchored.

“…Almost there,” someone says.

I barely hear it.

My eyes close again.

Then open.

Then close.

Fighting.

Trying.

“…Stay with me,” Greg repeats softly, his voice right there beside me. “You almost there, baby. Don’t let go now.”

I squeeze his hand one more time.

Weak.

But there.

And as everything starts to blur again—

That’s the last thing I feel.

Him.

Still holding on.

The sirens don’t stop until the doors fly open.

Cold air rushes in.

Voices get louder.

Faster.

“Move, move—clear the way!”

“Pregnant female, loss of consciousness—possible cardiac distress—”

“Vitals fluctuating—keep her steady!”

The stretcher jerks forward.

Everything blurs again.

Ceiling lights flash above me—one after another after another—too bright, too fast.

My head rolls slightly to the side.

Greg’s still there.

Right beside me.

His hand still wrapped around mine like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

“I’m right here,” he keeps saying, over and over, like a promise he don’t trust the world to keep. “I got you, you hear me? I got you.”

They push me through double doors.

The hallway turns.

Then another set of doors—

“Sir, you can’t go any further.”

The movement stops for a second.

I feel his hand tighten.

“…Nah, I’m staying with her,” Greg snaps, his voice sharper than I’ve ever heard it. “She ain’t by herself.”

“I understand, but you need to wait outside,” the nurse says firmly. “We’ll take care of her.”

“No—”

“Greg…”

My voice is weak.

Barely there.

But it stops him.

He looks down at me instantly.

His jaw clenched.

Eyes tense.

I manage a small shake of my head.

“…I’m okay…” I whisper, even though I don’t feel okay at all. “Just… wait…”

He hesitates.

Everything in his face says he don’t want to leave me.

But slowly—

His grip loosens.

“…I’ll be right outside,” he says, his voice lower now, calmer, but still tight with worry. “Don’t do nothing stupid while I’m gone.”

I try to smile.

It barely happens.

“…Okay…”

And then—

His hand slips from mine.

And I’m pushed through the doors without him.

Time feels weird after that.

Like it don’t move right.

Voices fade in and out.

Hands move around me.

Machines beep.

“…heart rate stabilizing…”

“…no signs of major cardiac distress…”

“…monitoring fetal response…”

Cold gel again.

Pressure on my stomach.

Someone adjusts the oxygen.

Someone asks me questions.

I answer some.

Miss others.

Then—

Nothing.

When I wake up again…

It’s quiet.

The room is dim.

Still.

Peaceful in a way that feels almost fake.

I blink slowly, my eyes adjusting to the soft light.

The oxygen tube is still under my nose, but lighter now.

Less urgent.

My chest…

Feels normal.

Just a little sore.

Like something passed through and left its mark.

The door opens softly.

A doctor steps in.

Different from before.

Older.

Calm.

“Well,” he says, glancing down at his chart, “you gave everyone a bit of a scare.”

I swallow, my throat dry.

“…What happened?” I ask, my voice still weak.

He looks up at me.

“You experienced a severe case of heartburn,” he explains. “Acid reflux, intensified by stress and pregnancy. It can mimic chest pain—sometimes even feel like something more serious.”

I stare at him.

“…Heartburn?” I repeat.

He nods. “Yes. Your vitals stabilized quickly, and your baby is perfectly fine. Strong heartbeat. No complications.”

Relief hits me.

Hard.

My shoulders drop slightly into the bed.

“…So… I’m okay?” I ask.

“You’re okay,” he confirms. “But you need to reduce stress levels. What you experienced tonight… that was your body reacting.”

Stress.

I almost laugh.

If only it was that simple.

The door opens again before I can say anything else.

Greg steps in.

And the moment his eyes land on me—

Everything in his body relaxes.

Like he’s been holding his breath this whole time.

“Damn,” he mutters, running a hand over his face. “You had me thinking something real bad happened.”

He walks over quickly, pulling a chair up beside the bed.

His hand comes up without hesitation—

Running through my hair.

Slow.

Careful.

Untangling a few loose strands from my braid.

“You good?” he asks softly.

I nod.

“…It was just heartburn,” I say, still not fully believing it myself.

He pauses.

Then lets out a short, incredulous breath.

“Heartburn?” he repeats. “You passed out in the middle of a damn restaurant over heartburn?”

I shrug weakly.

“…Guess so.”

He shakes his head, a small smirk tugging at his mouth.

“Man… you dramatic as hell.”

I roll my eyes slightly.

“…Shut up.”

But there’s no bite behind it.

Just… softness.

His fingers keep moving through my hair.

Grounding.

Comforting.

Like earlier.

And this time—

I don’t fight it.

Then—

The door bursts open.

Loud.

Fast.

The rest of the Hosburg family storms in like a damn hurricane.

“Where is she?!” Marissa demands.

“I’m right here,” I mutter.

They all freeze for a second.

Then rush toward me.

Christopher steps forward first, scanning me from head to toe.

“You alright?” he asks, voice tight.

“I’m fine,” I say quietly. “It was just—”

“Heartburn, we know,” Greg cuts in, leaning back in his chair.

Joseph scoffs. “She had us rushing across the city thinking something serious happened.”

“Don’t do that,” Greg snaps instantly. “She didn’t do shit on purpose.”

Alan shakes his head, running a hand over his face. “Man… this whole situation is a mess.”

Marissa steps closer to the bed, her expression softening slightly as she looks at me.

“You scared us,” she says, her voice quieter now.

I nod once.

“…Sorry.”

Christopher exhales slowly, then his expression hardens again.

“…Where the hell is Malcolm?” he asks, his tone shifting instantly.

Silence.

Everyone looks around.

Like maybe he’s gonna magically appear.

He doesn’t.

Greg leans back, crossing his arms.

“…Probably with that bitch,” he mutters under his breath.

Marissa’s face tightens.

Christopher’s jaw clenches.

Joseph scoffs loudly. “Of course he is.”

Alan shakes his head. “Nigga’s priorities are completely fucked.”

The room fills with tension again.

Heavy.

Sharp.

But this time—

I don’t feel it the same way.

I lay back against the pillows, one hand resting on my stomach.

Breathing steady.

Calm.

Because now I know—

It wasn’t my heart giving out.

It was everything around me.

And for the first time…

I’m starting to realize just how much of this I don’t have to keep carrying.

The room don’t settle.

Not even a little.

It just sits there—thick, tense, ready to snap at any second.

Christopher’s pacing now, slow but heavy, like every step he take is him trying not to lose his shit completely. Marissa stands near the foot of the bed, arms folded tight, eyes flicking between me and the door like she’s waiting for Malcolm to walk through it and fix something he already broke.

He doesn’t.

Of course he doesn’t.

Greg exhales sharply through his nose, leaning back in the chair for half a second… then sitting forward again like he can’t even stay still.

“Man, fuck this,” he mutters.

He reaches into his pocket, pulls out his phone.

I already know what he about to do.

“Greg—” I start, my voice low.

He doesn’t even look at me.

“No,” he cuts me off, jaw tight. “He don’t get to just disappear like this. Not tonight.”

He taps the screen.

The call rings once.

Twice.

Then—

Malcolm picks up.

“…What.”

Flat.

Indifferent.

Like he’s answering a random call in the middle of doing something more important.

Greg lets out a short, humorless laugh.

“What?” he repeats, voice already rising. “Nigga, that’s how you answering the phone right now?”

Silence for half a second.

Then Malcolm again, just as calm. “…What’s going on.”

Greg stands up slowly, pacing a few steps away from the bed, dragging a hand over his face before snapping back.

“What’s going on?” he echoes, louder now. “What’s going on is your wife just got rushed to the damn hospital, and your ass ain’t here.”

The room goes still.

Everyone listening.

Waiting.

Malcolm doesn’t respond right away.

“…Why,” he finally asks.

That one word—

It hits something in Greg.

I can see it.

“Why?” Greg snaps, his voice sharp as hell now. “You asking me why like you wasn’t the reason she stressed the fuck out in the first place? Like you wasn’t just parading around with that bitch in public while she out here carrying your kid?”

Christopher nods once, muttering under his breath, “Say that shit again.”

Greg keeps going.

“She collapsed in the middle of a restaurant, Malcolm,” he says, slower now, each word heavy. “Clutching her chest like she couldn’t breathe. Paramedics had to come get her. I rode in the ambulance with her because your ass was nowhere to be found.”

There’s a pause on the other end.

A real one this time.

Not indifference.

Not boredom.

Silence.

“…What,” Malcolm says again, but this time—

It ain’t flat.

It’s different.

Tighter.

Greg catches it.

“And before you start panicking and acting brand new,” he adds quickly, still heated, “they said it was heartburn. Severe. Caused by stress. You know—that shit you keep putting on her every damn day.”

Another pause.

Longer this time.

I shift slightly in the bed, pulling the blanket up a little higher over me, my fingers tightening faintly against it.

“…She’s at the hospital?” Malcolm asks.

There it is.

Finally.

Something real.

Greg scoffs. “No, nigga, we just having a damn family meeting in a hospital room for fun. Of course she at the hospital. Where the hell you think she at?”

Joseph lets out a low whistle. “About damn time he started sounding concerned.”

Marissa shoots him a look, but she doesn’t disagree.

On the other end—

Malcolm breathes out slowly.

“…Is she okay?” he asks.

I close my eyes for a second.

Because that question…

Feels late.

Too late.

Greg glances over at me.

Then back at his phone.

“She’s fine,” he says, his tone still sharp but less explosive now. “Doctor said it was heartburn. Baby’s good too.”

Silence again.

Then—

“…I’m on my way,” Malcolm says.

Simple.

Straight.

No attitude.

No indifference.

Greg snorts. “Yeah, you better be.”

He pulls the phone away slightly like he about to hang up—

But Malcolm speaks again.

“…Greg.”

Greg pauses.

“What.”

Another silence.

Then Malcolm, lower this time.

“…Don’t let her be by herself.”

The room goes quiet.

Even Greg stills.

He glances at me again.

Then back at the phone.

“She ain’t been by herself,” he says, voice steady now. “Not once.”

Another pause.

Then the line clicks.

Call ended.

Greg lowers the phone slowly, his jaw still tight but his breathing starting to even out.

“…About damn time,” Alan mutters.

Christopher stops pacing, looking toward the door like he’s expecting Malcolm to burst in any second now.

Marissa sighs, running a hand through her hair. “This is getting out of control.”

Joseph shakes his head. “It’s been out of control.”

Greg walks back over, dropping into the chair beside me again.

His hand finds mine without even thinking about it.

Warm.

Steady.

“You alright?” he asks quietly.

I nod.

“…Yeah.”

But my chest feels… different.

Not tight.

Not hurting.

Just…

Heavy.

Because now Malcolm’s coming.

And I don’t even know what that means anymore.

The room quiets down after the call.

Not fully.

There’s still tension sitting in the corners, breathing slow, waiting for Malcolm to walk in and set everything off again.

But for me?

It all fades out.

Their voices turn into background noise.

Low.

Distant.

Because my mind drifts somewhere else.

Back.

Back to the moment everything changed.

I remember standing in that bathroom.

Cold tile under my bare feet.

Lights too bright.

Too honest.

The test sat on the counter in front of me.

Small.

Simple.

Life-changing.

I stared at it for so long my eyes started to burn.

Like if I looked hard enough…

The answer might change.

It didn’t.

Two lines.

Clear as hell.

No confusion.

No doubt.

Pregnant.

My fingers trembled slightly as I picked it up.

“…Okay…” I whispered to myself.

But it didn’t feel okay.

It didn’t feel like anything.

Just… heavy.

Like my whole life just shifted under my feet and nobody bothered to warn me.

Malcolm was in the bedroom.

Sitting at the edge of the bed, scrolling through his phone like always, one leg bouncing slightly.

I walked in slow.

Careful.

Like I was stepping into something fragile.

“Malcolm…” I said softly.

He didn’t look up.

“Mm.”

I stood there for a second.

Waiting.

Hoping.

“…I need to tell you something.”

“Say it,” he muttered, still looking at his phone.

That should’ve been my first sign.

But I ignored it.

Because I wanted—

Needed—

That moment to be different.

“I’m pregnant,” I said.

Clear.

Direct.

No room for misunderstanding.

He didn’t react.

Didn’t look up.

Didn’t even pause.

“…Okay,” he said.

Just like that.

Okay.

Like I told him I was going to the store.

Like I told him dinner was ready.

Not—

We’re having a child.

I blinked.

Once.

Twice.

“…Okay?” I repeated, my voice smaller now.

“Yeah,” he said, finally glancing up for half a second before going right back to his phone. “That’s what they wanted, right?”

They.

Not us.

They.

My chest tightened slightly.

“…It’s your baby,” I said quietly.

He shrugged.

“I know.”

That was it.

That was the whole conversation.

No questions.

No excitement.

No are you okay?

Nothing.

Days passed.

Then weeks.

My body started changing.

Subtle at first.

Then more obvious.

My stomach rounded slightly.

My appetite shifted.

I got tired easier.

But Malcolm?

He didn’t notice.

Or maybe he just didn’t care.

Either way—

He never said anything.

It wasn’t until one evening…

I was standing in the mirror.

Hands resting on my stomach.

Really looking at it for the first time.

Like—

This is real.

Like there’s actually a life in there.

Growing.

Because of me.

Because of him.

I didn’t hear him come in.

Didn’t realize he was there until—

“…When did that happen?”

I froze.

Met his eyes in the mirror.

“…What?”

He stepped closer, his gaze fixed on my stomach now.

“That,” he said, gesturing toward it. “When did you start showing?”

I stared at him.

For a long second.

Then another.

“…I told you I was pregnant,” I said slowly.

He frowned slightly.

“I thought you meant… like early.”

My chest dropped.

“You thought I meant early,” I repeated.

“Yeah,” he said, like that made sense. “I didn’t think it was already—”

He stopped himself.

But it didn’t matter.

I already heard enough.

“You didn’t think it was already real?” I finished for him.

He didn’t answer.

Just kept looking at my stomach like it was the first time he was seeing it.

The first time he was acknowledging it.

Acknowledging him.

“…It’s been real,” I said quietly.

My voice didn’t shake.

Didn’t break.

But something inside me did.

Just a little.

“You just weren’t paying attention.”

He didn’t deny it.

Didn’t apologize.

Didn’t do anything.

Just stood there.

Looking.

Processing.

Too late.

Back in the present—

I blink slowly, staring up at the hospital ceiling again.

That memory sits heavy in my chest.

Not painful anymore.

Just…

Clear.

Like everything finally makes sense.

Greg’s thumb brushes over my hand again, pulling me back slightly.

“You spacing out on me?” he asks softly.

I glance over at him.

“…Just thinking,” I murmur.

He nods.

Doesn’t push.

Because he don’t need to.

He already knows it ain’t nothing good.

Footsteps echo faintly down the hallway outside.

The room shifts again.

That tension creeping back in.

Because he’s coming.

I can feel it.

Malcolm.

And for the first time—

I don’t feel nervous.

I don’t feel hopeful.

I don’t feel anything at all.

Because that moment…

Standing in that bathroom with that test in my hand…

That was the moment I realized—

I was doing this alone.

And everything after that?

Just proved it.

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