Updated Jan 26, 2026 • ~8 min read
LINA’S POV
The nausea hit me on a Tuesday morning, three weeks into married life.
I barely made it to the bathroom before my stomach emptied itself. Then again. And again, until I was shaking and sweating on the cold tile floor, wondering if I’d accidentally given myself food poisoning.
“Lina?” Seb’s voice came from the other side of the door. “You okay?”
“Fine,” I managed, my voice hoarse. “Just—give me a minute.”
“You don’t sound fine.”
I heard him moving around, then the sound of water running in the kitchen. A few minutes later, there was a soft knock.
“I’m leaving water and crackers out here,” he said. “And I’m calling in sick to work.”
“Don’t—” Another wave hit me. “Don’t do that. I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. I’m staying.”
By the time I emerged, pale and shaky, Seb had transformed the living room into some kind of sick person sanctuary. Blankets on the couch. Ginger ale. Saltines. A trash can positioned strategically nearby.
“Stomach bug?” he asked, concern creasing his forehead.
“Must be.” I collapsed onto the couch. “Sorry. This is not how I wanted to spend your morning.”
“Our morning.” He sat on the coffee table across from me, close but not touching. “When did it start?”
“Just now. I felt fine last night.”
“Have you eaten anything unusual?”
I thought about it. “No. Same stuff as always.”
He pressed the back of his hand to my forehead, the gesture so natural I almost didn’t register it. “No fever. That’s good.”
“WebMD says I’m probably dying.”
“WebMD always says you’re dying.” His mouth quirked. “Try the crackers. Small bites.”
I managed half a sleeve before my stomach protested again. Seb held my hair back without comment, brought me water, didn’t make me feel embarrassed about being a mess on his bathroom floor.
“This is above your pay grade,” I mumbled.
“You’re my wife. It’s literally in the contract. Sickness and health.”
“That was for show.”
“Was it?” He handed me a cold washcloth. “Come on. Back to the couch.”
The nausea continued for three days.
Mornings were the worst. I’d wake up feeling like death, spend an hour in the bathroom, then feel mostly fine by noon. Seb started working from home, hovering like an anxious mother hen.
“You need to see a doctor,” he said Thursday morning, watching me nibble toast.
“It’s just a bug. It’ll pass.”
“It’s been three days, Lina.”
“I don’t have health insurance until your company adds me to your plan. That doesn’t kick in for another week.” I sipped ginger ale. “I’m not paying two hundred dollars for a doctor to tell me to rest and drink fluids.”
“I’ll pay for it.”
“No.”
“Lina—”
“Seb, I’m fine. I promise.” I stood up to prove my point and immediately regretted it when the room spun. “See? Totally fine.”
He caught my elbow, steadying me. “You’re impossible.”
“It’s part of my charm.”
“This isn’t charming. This is concerning.” His jaw was tight. “If you’re not better by tomorrow, I’m taking you to urgent care. Non-negotiable.”
SEB’S POV
I couldn’t focus on work.
Every few minutes, I’d find myself listening for sounds from Lina’s room. The shower running. Her moving around. Anything to confirm she was okay.
This wasn’t part of the arrangement. I wasn’t supposed to care if she was sick. We were roommates with paperwork. Business partners. Nothing more.
But watching her curled up on my couch, looking small and miserable, something in my chest had cracked open.
“You’re being ridiculous,” I told myself. “She has the flu. People get the flu.”
Except something felt off. The timing. The way it only happened in the mornings. The way she’d suddenly become sensitive to coffee—she’d actually gagged at the smell yesterday.
My phone rang. Declan. Again.
“What?” I answered.
“Hello to you too, sunshine. Someone’s cranky.”
“I’m working.”
“You’re always working. That’s not news.” He paused. “Actually, that’s why I’m calling. You missed the Milan meeting this morning.”
Shit. I’d completely forgotten.
“Something came up.”
“Something or someone?” Declan’s voice shifted. “Seb, what’s going on? You’ve been weird for weeks.”
“I’m not weird.”
“You’re absolutely weird. You’re distracted, you’re missing meetings, and you keep dodging my questions about the green card situation.” He hesitated. “Are you in trouble?”
“No.”
“Then what—”
From the living room, I heard Lina get sick again. My stomach clenched.
“I have to go,” I said.
“Is someone there? Seb, seriously, you’re freaking me out.”
“I’ll call you back.”
I ended the call and found Lina in the bathroom, leaning against the wall with her eyes closed.
“I’m starting to think this isn’t the flu,” she said weakly.
“When was your last period?”
She opened her eyes. “What?”
“Your period. When was it?” I kept my voice gentle, clinical. “Because these symptoms—morning sickness, food aversions—they could be—”
“No.” She shook her head. “No, that’s not possible.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m on birth control. I—” She stopped. Blinked. “Oh God.”
“What?”
“I switched pills two months ago. My old prescription ran out and the pharmacy gave me a generic.” Her face went pale. “The pharmacist said there might be an adjustment period but I didn’t think—I mean, I haven’t even been with anyone in—”
She stopped again. Her eyes went wide.
“The wedding night,” I said quietly. “After dinner. When I walked you home.”
“We didn’t—”
“No. But before that. At the restaurant.” I ran a hand through my hair. “Lina, were you seeing anyone before we got married?”
LINA’S POV
My mind was racing, trying to remember. Before Seb. Before the courthouse. Before everything changed.
“There was someone,” I said slowly. “Briefly. We went out a few times, it didn’t work out.” I did the math in my head and my stomach dropped. “Oh no. Oh no no no.”
“When?”
“Eight weeks ago. Maybe nine.” I looked at Seb, panic clawing up my throat. “But I was on the pill. We were careful. This can’t be—”
“Birth control isn’t foolproof. Especially during a transition between medications.”
“You’re very calm about this.”
“One of us should be.” But I could see tension in his shoulders, the way his hands were clenched. “We need to get you a test.”
“Now?”
“Yes, now.”
He drove me to three different pharmacies before finding one that had pregnancy tests in stock. I stayed in the car, trying not to panic, while Seb went in and bought what seemed like every brand available.
“You bought six tests,” I said when he got back in the car.
“We’ll want to be sure.”
“Seb, if I’m pregnant—” I couldn’t finish the sentence. Couldn’t even think about what that would mean. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“I know.”
“We have an arrangement. A timeline. This ruins everything.”
“Let’s not panic until we know for sure.” He started the car. “One step at a time.”
Back at the apartment, I locked myself in the bathroom with all six tests. Read the instructions three times. Took them all, lined them up on the counter, and waited.
Three minutes had never felt so long.
Seb knocked softly. “Lina?”
“Still waiting.”
“Can I come in?”
I opened the door. He looked almost as scared as I felt.
“They’re not ready yet,” I said.
We stood there together, staring at six little pieces of plastic that were about to change everything. Seb’s hand found mine. Squeezed.
“Whatever they say,” he said quietly, “we’ll figure it out.”
“We?”
“You’re my wife. Legally speaking.” His thumb brushed across my knuckles. “I’m not going to abandon you.”
The timer on my phone went off.
I looked at the tests.
All six were positive.
“Oh God,” I whispered.
Seb pulled me into his arms, and I let myself break down. Let myself cry into his expensive shirt while he held me, his hand steady on my back, murmuring things in Italian I couldn’t understand but somehow made me feel less alone.
“What am I going to do?” I asked.
“What are we going to do,” he corrected. “And I don’t know yet. But we’ll figure it out.”
I pulled back to look at him. “This isn’t your problem, Seb. The baby isn’t yours.”
“Maybe not biologically.” Something fierce crossed his face. “But you’re my wife. Which makes this my problem too.”
“You didn’t sign up for this.”
“No,” he agreed. “But neither did you.”
My phone buzzed. A text from Stella:
Dinner Friday? I miss your face.
I looked at the positive pregnancy tests. At Seb. At my wedding ring.
How was I supposed to explain this to anyone when I couldn’t even explain it to myself?
“We need a plan,” Seb said.
“I need to think.”
“Okay. Think. I’ll make tea.” He headed for the door, then stopped. “Lina? Whatever you decide… I’m here. I mean that.”
After he left, I sat on the bathroom floor and tried to process.
I was pregnant.
I was married to a man I barely knew.
And somewhere out there was the actual father of my baby, someone I’d gone on three mediocre dates with and never called again.
This was a disaster.
This was a catastrophe.
This was going to ruin everything.
I looked down at my still-flat stomach and felt something unexpected. Something terrifying.
Hope.
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