Ashley woke to the soft insistence of rain against the bedroom windows and the heavier weight of an arm draped across her waist.
She smiled all cuddled up with her dream man. She floated, warm, boneless, content, until a tiny, practical thought struck her, like it was lightning and was jealous of her peace.
The date.
She slid a hand under the duvet, found her phone on the nightstand, and squinted at the lock screen.
Then she opened her calendar and counted backward, mouth moving silently.
Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine. Thirty-one.
Scratch that, she quickly opened her period app and she was late for almost a week already.
Her stomach went light, as if the bed had shifted under her. She counted again, slower, like the app was wrong. God! she hoped it was wrong.
Late.
Not wildly. Not dramatically. Just late enough to feel the floor tilt.
