Brooke stared at the stick on the bathroom counter like it might change its mind if she blinked hard enough.
Two lines. Still there. Still pink.
She rinsed her hands even though they were clean, dried them on the corner of a towel, and walked back into the kitchen on autopilot. The kettle clicked itself off. She poured water over tea and watched the steam curl up like a secret looking for a place to land.
Keys turned in the lock.
"Hey," Neville called, the smile already in his voice. "I brought the bread you like and those ridiculous strawberries that taste like sugar."
He stepped inside, hair damp from the mist outside, suit jacket over his arm. He saw her face, and the light in his eyes shifted to concern..
"What's wrong?" he asked softly, setting the bag on the counter. "Are you okay?"
Brooke nodded, then shook her head, then nodded again. "I'm… I don't know how to start."
