Chapter Text
Prolog
Two Lines, Two Days
The sharp scent of rubbing alcohol still lingered in the air of Conrad’s small dorm room, mingling with the bitter aroma of cheap coffee. Belly sat on the edge of the mattress, her legs swinging nervously as her eyes remained glued to the plastic stick resting on the cluttered desk.
Conrad stepped out of the tiny kitchenette, holding two mugs. The moment his gaze found her, the deep, instinctual worry in his dark eyes flared up. Setting the mugs down, he immediately dropped to his knees in front of her, enveloping her ice-cold hands in his own.
"Belly. Breathe. Talk to me, tell me what’s going on."
She swallowed hard, her voice barely a fraction of a whisper. "I’m late, Con. By a lot. At first, I thought it was just the stress from school... but my body feels entirely different."
Conrad didn't flinch. He didn’t panic. He simply squeezed her hands tighter, anchoring her. Rising to his feet, he picked up the test from the desk and stared at it in silence. When his eyes locked onto the two unmistakable lines, a profound, instantaneous gravity shifted over his features.
"It’s positive," he said softly.
Belly bolted upright, tears instantly blurring her vision. "That’s impossible! Con, it makes no sense! I’ve had an IUD for a year! Nobody knows—Taylor drove me to the clinic back then just so we’d be completely safe when we... This can't be happening!" Her breathing fractured, the suffocating shadow of a panic attack threatening to pull her under.
"Hey, look at me. Belly, look at me." Conrad was there in a heartbeat. He cupped her face in his large, warm hands, gently forcing her to hold his gaze. His voice was the absolute anchor in the room. "Breathe with me. In. Out. Just like that. We’ve got this. No matter what, we are a team. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere."
By that afternoon, they were sitting in the quiet examination room of an OB-GYN near the university. The cold ultrasound gel on Belly’s stomach felt like a shock to her system. The doctor stared intently at the monitor before confirming the brutal, undeniable reality: "You are eight weeks pregnant, Miss Conklin. The IUD has slightly shifted out of place. It’s rare, but it happens."
The doctor laid their options on the table, completely unvarnished. Three distinct paths stretched out before them:
1. Termination: Ending the pregnancy either medically or surgically.
2. Removing the IUD: A high-risk procedure where the irritation to the uterine wall could trigger an immediate miscarriage.
3. Leaving it in: Doing nothing, which would inevitably lead to severe infections and life-threatening complications for both Belly and the baby as the months progressed.
Out in the waiting room, they clung to each other so fiercely their knuckles turned white. There was no need for a long discussion. No pro-and-con lists. When Conrad looked into her eyes, he already read the answer written in them.
"We take it out," Belly said, her voice steadying. "I won't risk this baby." Conrad nodded, leaning in to press a firm kiss against her forehead. "Then we take it out. We fight for this."
The procedure itself was brief, but the forty-eight hours that followed were a living hell. The doctor explained they had to wait two full days before another ultrasound could determine if the embryo's heart had survived the removal and if the pregnancy remained viable.
To buy them some time, Conrad typed a message into the family group chat with trembling fingers: “Belly caught a nasty stomach flu. She’s completely wiped out. We’re going to be about two days late getting to Boston.”
It wasn't even entirely a lie. The morning sickness was kicking in with a vengeance. They spent the next two days curled up together in Conrad’s bed. And in that agonizing, heavy silence of waiting—while Conrad held the trash can for her, brought her cold sips of water, and spent hours just cradling her against his chest—something profound happened. The initial shock slowly dissolved, giving way to an existential certainty. They barely spoke the words aloud, but the mute understanding between them was louder than anything else: They wanted this baby. They wanted this future. Every passing hour of waiting only made them more fierce, more resolute.
Two days later, they found themselves back on the uncomfortable chairs of the clinic. The sudden, rapid thumping that erupted from the ultrasound machine's speakers made them both sob at the exact same time.
Thump-thump-thump-thump.
The doctor smiled gently. "It’s a little miracle, but everything is perfectly stable. The heartbeat is strong."
Belly wept with pure, dizzying relief, while Conrad pressed her knuckles against his trembling lips. When they walked out to his old car an hour later, the last remnants of childhood innocence had officially evaporated. They were no longer teenagers sneaking into each other’s bedrooms under the cover of night.
To any outside observer, they would look like two terrified kids facing the messy fallout of a reckless mistake. But nobody knew the truth. Nobody in their world had any idea that this pregnancy wasn’t the chaotic beginning of a disaster, but the ultimate crown of a secret, unwavering three-and-a-half-year love story. For three and a half years, they had shared their nights in the dark, learned how to grow up in perfect lockstep, and bound their souls together—all while Jeremiah, Steven, and their mothers remained completely blind to the reality right in front of them.
Conrad started the engine, shifted into gear, and looked Belly deep in the eyes one last time. The elaborate fortress of lies they had built so flawlessly was about to come crashing down. Jere, Steven, Laurel, and Susannah were waiting for them in Boston.
They were terrified. But they were ready. The car rolled off the lot, heading for Boston.