Ella
“Well, I guess that settles that.” I muse, staring at the image dominating the narrow screen of my smart phone. Granted, it was sent by the woman I saved as “Satan’s Mistress” in my contacts and is centered right below the photo of Lydia and Sinclair in bed together, but there’s no mistaking the sight of a positive pregnancy test.
I’ve taken enough home tests in my life to understand what the two pink lines filling the small results window mean – they’re the sight I wished for a thousand times but never saw.
I’m trying to keep the pain and disappointment out of my voice so that Sinclair won’t know how upset I am, though I don’t know why I bother. It seems he can read me like a book, even at the best of times.
Whether he can sense it or not, I’m devastated to know Lydia is pregn
