I always imagined this specific moment would be beautiful. I thought it would happen in a sunlit room, with birds outside the window, soft music drifting in from somewhere… oh, and maybe my husband by my side. But I've always been a dreamer and a romantic, to my own detriment. Apparently, no amount of lived experience has managed to cure me of it. And reality, as always, has other plans. So instead of that cinematic moment, I'm sitting in a cold doctor's office, all alone, staring at an older male doctor with absolutely no emotion across his face. "Luna," he says carefully, folding his hands together and taking a deep breath, "The test came back positive. You are pregnant." "Oh," I say. Not the dramatic gasp I always imagined from myself. No overwhelmed tears. No hands flying to my mouth. Just one flat, deflated syllable. I think I always assumed the news itself would do the heavy lifting. That the word pregnant would make me light up or something. Instead, I just feel... oh.
Last Updated : 2026-05-01 Read more