Chapter Text
Penelope Bridgerton cannot believe where she’s found herself. She’s waiting in line at her local Tesco with 2 brands of pregnancy tests in her hands. It’s been 15 years since she bought one of these. After she had her twins, she and her husband, Colin, made sure she was on the pill. No more babies for them. Three in three years had been quite enough.
This might be the worst possible time to be having a pregnancy scare. Never mind that she’s 40 years old; will be 41 by the time this baby is born. But her relationship is at the worst point it has ever been at during their 18 year marriage.
It started about two years ago, when Penelope realized she hadn’t written a word since her youngest two were in diapers. She did the math on how long it was since she had anything published and it was even worse. Back when they only had one child - her fiercely independent and laidback firstborn, Agatha - she could sit on a beach while her baby rested under a tent, and write to her heart's content. She'd published romance books, think pieces that have made it into The Guardian, and even co-written two travel guides with her husband. Once the news came in that they were having twins next, Penelope and Colin decided to leave their nomadic lifestyle behind and plant roots in London, near both of their families.
She always loved being a mother, and Colin was the best father that anyone could imagine. Even with his job working as a travel writer, he is an attentive, loving, and thoughtful partner and father. The best anyone could ask for. But Penelope just isn’t sure she’s asking for it anymore.
She loves him, and she really doesn’t want to leave him or her family, but recently she can’t get out of her head that she’s holding them all back. Compared to Colin, she’s a fine parent. He dazzles with his wild adventure stories, and is the first to notice when one child is down in the dumps, and knows just what to say to cheer them up. He has an incredible career that he did not have to put on hold because of their kids, (thank you, patriarchy).
And for 2 years now, she’s spent almost every waking moment wishing her life was totally different than how it actually is. Some days, she wishes she never became a mother. And then she spends hours wracked with guilt, and usually lavishes her kids with extra love and attention for days afterwards.
Most days, she wishes Colin would just go away and leave her be. It’s the most frustrating thing in the world because she knows, logically, that he loves her - adores her even. But when he dotes on her, she feels like a mental patient. Maybe that’s what she should be. On her darkest days, she wonders about seeking professional help, but the idea of sitting on a couch divulging her deepest secrets wigs her out. She knows she can get out of this funk if she just stops being so melancholy all the time and chooses to be happy and content. God, she thinks, that will be so much harder if there’s a new baby in the mix.
It’s insanely ironic that she’s even having to buy this pregnancy test because in her funk, they have had sex a total of one time. In two years. She knows that’s so long for a married couple to go without, but she truly can’t find it in herself to be sexual at all. Most days making sure her kids are clothed and fed is all she’s capable of.
And of course, Colin is the most understanding man of all time. Can he just STOP being so fucking NICE to her all the time?? For once, she wishes that he would just yell at her. Tell her that he needs to fuck her and won’t take no for an answer. But Colin Bridgerton is not that man, and he never will be. He is patient and kind and she wants absolutely none of it.
Almost all of their days end the same way. He tries to see if there’s anything he can do to help her, and she bites his head off in the process. A few times, she’s been nasty enough that he’s slept in the guest room. But in the morning, she always wakes to a cup of tea on her nightstand and a kiss on the head. And it feels suffocating. Every. Single. Time.
After weeks of pressuring him, Colin finally took on a travel job. His first in 6 months, since her mood had gotten so bad, that he took a sabbatical to be home and care for her. Once he was finally set to leave in the morning, Penelope woke up in the dead of night to hurl her guts in the toilet.
“I don’t want to leave you, Pen,” he said, as he was set to leave out the door. “I think something might seriously be wrong.”
“Something is seriously wrong. You’re still here when I begged you to fucking leave.”
He stood in the doorway with his bags for a full minute, slack jawed, taking in what she said to him. Finally, he leaned into her, making her flinch just a bit. He ignored it, kissed her cheek swiftly, and left without a word.
Penelope was glad her kids weren’t there to see the exchange. They said their goodbye’s to their father earlier that morning, before they left to go to school. She was ashamed by the way she talked to him now, but truly had no idea how to fix it. How else can she get him to leave her alone? Would he have left if she’d done anything differently? She can’t have him lingering around just because of some food poisoning.
But one night with her head in the toilet turned into two, and then five, and then three full weeks of near constant nausea and exhaustion. She let herself lay in bed, wallowing in self pity, only getting up to order food for her kids, put on a brave face, and hope they didn’t suspect anything. She felt a deep-bone tiredness that she hadn’t felt since, well, since she had been pregnant with the twins.
The symptoms had gone on long enough. She had to be sure. Placing her fakest smile on her face, Penelope reached the front of the queue and beamed at the sweet young girl in the checkout counter. Please, she thought, don’t say anything.
As if on cue, the cashier looked down, cringed, and said, “Hope this goes the way you want!”
Jesus Christ, Penelope thought, just let this all be over.
Penelope rushed home and was greeted by Thomas and Jane, her fourteen year old twins, on the living room couch playing Mario Kart. She usually only allows video games on the weekend, but she needed all kids busy and distracted for as long as possible this evening.
Agatha, sitting on her bed with her door cracked, gave her a small smile as she walked in.
“Hi mum! Everyone lived.” The words dripped with sarcasm.
That was a little bit too much sass for Penelope to deal with at the moment. Yes, she’s protective of her kids, of course she is. So yes, she gives Ags a 15 minute spiel about keeping her younger siblings safe while she goes out, for any length of time, and for any reason. Agatha just rolled her eyes at her mum after the speech today.
“Yes, yes, no guns or drugs in the house while you’re gone for 10 minutes. Pick me up some Jammie Dodgers as a thank you and we’re even.”
Shit, she forgot the biscuits. Now she’ll really owe Ag.
Finally making it to the peace of her en suite bathroom, she makes quick work of taking the tests, letting them rest on her bathroom counter once she’s done. She paces a hole into the floor for about five minutes just staring at the instructions on the packaging for the two tests she bought. Two is safe right? Two should be enough to be sure? God, what if one is positive and the other is negative? Has that ever happened to someone before? I should have bought three, I’m so fucking stupid, Oh my G-
Ding!!! She lets out an audible yelp at the disturbance. In her spiral about the tests, she hadn’t realized the timer was slowly ticking toward the moment of truth.
Okay Bridgerton, time to look down, no fear. She takes in a deep breath, turns towards the two sticks sitting on the counter.
“Fuck.”