Welcome readers! My name is Zelda, and this is my Masterlist. As a forewarning, there will be a mixture of 18+ (MDNI) stories and stories for all ages. I’ll have the 18+ content labeled as such. Other than that, everything will be posted down below! If you’ve got requests, suggestions, any kind of constructive criticism, don’t hesitate to let me know!! I’m excited to write for you guys :))
Al-Hashimi's cry in the car was so fucking relatable to anyone who has a chronic illness that feels like they're being barred from doing what they want because of something that they had no choice or control over.
The first rule of fandom is have fun. The second rule of fandom is find an enabler and become an enabler. Yes you should write that fic. What if it was even hornier? What if it was angstier? What if you wrote it just for me?
For my Surface Pressure series, as the story progresses and relationships develop, should I include a sex scene or should I just allude to it? Or maybe not include it at all?
Pairing: Jack Abbot x F!Reader || Past!Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x F!Reader
Summary: Leni is your Cristina Yang. In other words, she’s your person.
Series Warnings: Angst. Hurt/comfort. Emotional hurt/comfort. Fears and anxieties. Panic attacks. Language. Unplanned pregnancy. Post-break up of situationship. Robby being Robby (disrespectfully). Reader internalizes a lot of their emotions. Tensions. Possible arguments. Guilt. Reader does not like asking for help. Insecurities. Jack being the man he is (respectfully). Jack wanting to take care of reader. Slow burn. Older man x younger wan trope (unspecified age gap). No use of Y/N. Unspecified race and physical descriptions. Mentions of loss of limb. Medical inaccuracies. Mentions of loss of spouse. Mental health. Whatever else I failed to mention.
Author’s Note: I do not own The Pitt in any capacity. The franchise and its characters belong to their rightful owner(s). Similarly, I don’t own any the gifs or pictures used for my fics. All I own are the fic ideas.
Word Count: 3,226(ish)
Series Masterlist || Masterlist
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It wasn’t until a little after eight that evening that your phone finally buzzed.
By then, you’d all but barricaded yourself inside your apartment.
The shower you’d taken after getting home had washed away the lingering smell of antiseptic and hospital disinfectant, replacing it with lavender body wash that normally helped you unwind. Tonight, it hadn’t made much of a difference. The exhaustion clinging to you went deeper than sore muscles or an aching back.
You’d changed into an old pair of sweatpants and one of your favorite oversized T-shirts before curling up in the corner of your couch with a blanket draped over your legs.
The coffee table in front of you looked more like a collection of failed survival attempts than dinner.
A sleeve of saltine crackers.
A sliced apple that you’d been slowly picking at for nearly an hour.
A small dish of peanut butter.
An open bottle of ginger ale that had long since lost most of its fizz.
Dana would’ve had a field day if she’d seen it.
“Eat something with actual substance,” you could practically hear her saying.
You had tried.
Toast had come back up within twenty minutes.
The thought of eggs made your stomach churn.
Even the smell of the leftover soup in your refrigerator had sent you retreating to the couch with another handful of crackers instead.
It wasn’t much, but at least it had stayed down.
So far.
Your favorite show played softly from the television, more background noise than entertainment. You couldn’t have told anyone what was happening in the episode. The characters spoke over one another while your attention remained fixed on the slow, uneasy negotiation happening in your own stomach.
One bite.
Wait.
A sip of ginger ale.
Wait again.
Every few minutes you found yourself assessing the now-familiar warning signs. Was the nausea getting worse? Was your stomach settling? Were you about to make another trip to the bathroom?
It was exhausting.
You hadn’t realized how much mental energy went into simply trying not to throw up.
You reached for another cracker, chewing cautiously as your phone buzzed against the cushion beside you. The sound startled you enough that you nearly dropped it.
Setting the cracker back on the plate, you reached for your phone and glanced at the screen.
Leni.
A small smile tugged at your lips before you could stop it. For the first time all day, the knot in your chest loosened, if only a little.
Your thumb hovered over the keyboard.
For a long moment, you simply stared at the conversation.
You could still lie.
Say you’d needed help moving furniture.
Ask her to grab dinner on Thursday.
Pretend everything was normal for another few hours.
Instead, your phone buzzed.
Leni: ???
Another buzz.
Leni: you okay? what’s going on?
You huffed a quiet laugh through your nose despite yourself.
Typical.
She’d never been particularly patient.
You: answer the question pls
Three dots appeared almost immediately.
Disappeared.
Then came back.
Leni: yeah
Another message followed before you could respond.
Leni: you’re scaring me. what’s going on?
Your fingers froze above the screen.
You swallowed hard.
This was it.
The first time you’d actually tell someone besides Dana. Your stomach twisted.
You started typing.
You stared at them.
Deleted them.
Then typed again.
You: I’m pregnant.
Your thumb hesitated over the send button.
Once she read it, there’d be no taking it back.
You swallowed thickly, and pressed Send.
The message had barely been delivered before your phone erupted in your hands.
The sudden vibration made you jump, nearly fumbling the phone onto the couch.
“Leni,” you muttered, already knowing what was coming. You answered and lifted the phone to your ear.
Her voice exploded through the speaker. “You’re what?!”
You jerked the phone away with a grimace.
“Jesus Christ.” Quickly switching to speakerphone, you rubbed at one ear. “You don’t need to yell.”
“I don’t need to—” Leni cut herself off with a disbelieving laugh. “Are you kidding me?” She sounded somewhere between horrified and offended. “You’re just gonna text me ‘I’m pregnant’ like you’re asking if I want coffee?”
You leaned back against the couch cushions, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I wasn’t really sure how else to say it.”
“You could’ve started with, ‘Hey, don’t panic.’”
“I figured that would’ve had the opposite effect.”
“It absolutely would’ve.”
Despite yourself, the corner of your mouth twitched. It disappeared just as quickly.
“I just need my friend right now.”
The words came out quieter than you’d intended.
Immediately, Leni’s tone changed. The teasing vanished.
“And you’ve got her.” You could hear keys jingling on the other end of the line. A door shutting. “I’m coming over.”
You sat upright. “Leni—”
“I’m already putting my shoes on.”
“Please don’t do anything—”
“Oh, come off it.”
Her voice was firm now. The voice she’d used back in nursing school whenever you were about to make a terrible decision.
“I’m coming over.”
You sighed. “Leni…”
“I’ll be there in twenty.”
“I don’t—”
“You don’t get a vote.”
You closed your eyes. “You sound like Dana.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Tough.”
You couldn’t help letting out a tired huff.
Leni continued before you could protest again. “And before you even think about it—don’t leave.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Good. And don’t do anything stupid until I get there.”
You frowned. “What exactly would I do?”
“I don’t know.” She paused. “People don’t always think clearly when they’re overwhelmed.”
You looked down at the untouched crackers on your coffee table. “…Fair.”
The admission came reluctantly.
A beat of silence settled between you.
Finally, you muttered, “It’s not like I can do much anyway.”
Another pause.
Then, more softly, “You can tell me what happened.”
Your throat tightened. The words caught somewhere behind your ribs.
“And if I don’t want to?” you asked.
Leni didn’t answer immediately.
You could hear the faint sound of her car door opening. Then closing.
“I won’t force you.” Her voice was gentler now. “But I’m still coming.”
You stared at the television without really seeing it.
“If I tell you…” Your fingers tightened around the edge of the blanket. “…you’re just going to say, ‘I told you so.’”
The confession hung heavily between you. You’d avoided telling Leni about the situationship ending for exactly that reason.
She’d never liked Robby.
Not from the beginning.
Not after meeting him.
Not after hearing you talk about him.
“You know how I felt about him,” she said quietly.
“Yeah.” You swallowed. “I do.”
“I also know this is a really shitty situation.”
The knot in your chest tightened.
“It is.”
“I’m not interested in being right.” Her answer came without hesitation. “I’m interested in making sure you’re okay.”
Your eyes stung unexpectedly. You looked down before the tears could fall.
“I’ll see you in a few.”
“…Fine.”
A small smile crept into Leni’s voice.
“Good.”
“Drive safe.”
“I always do.”
You snorted softly. “Liar.”
“Okay, mostly.”
Despite everything, a tiny laugh escaped you. It lasted less than a second, but it was there.
“I’ll see you soon.”
“…Bye.”
“Bye.”
The call disconnected.
Silence settled over the apartment once more.
You lowered the phone into your lap and stared at the dark screen. For the first time since seeing those two pink lines, you wouldn’t have to be alone.
* * *
Leni arrived nearly forty-five minutes later.
You knew it was her before you even looked through the peephole.
Three loud, unapologetic knocks rattled the front door.
Not polite.
Not tentative.
Just enough to announce that she wasn’t going away.
You groaned from your spot on the couch, rubbing a hand over your face before dragging yourself to your feet.
“Coming,” you called, your voice hoarse.
Your body still felt heavy as you shuffled toward the door. Every muscle ached with exhaustion, and the lingering nausea made the short walk feel longer than it should have.
You unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the door open.
Leni stood on the other side balancing two overflowing grocery bags against her hip. The second she saw you, she paused.
Her eyes traveled over your face.
Taking in the oversized T-shirt.
The messy hair.
The dark circles beneath your eyes.
The way your shoulders slumped as though simply standing required effort.
Her brow furrowed. “You look like shit.”
You answered by silently raising your middle finger.
“There she is,” Leni grinned with a satisfied nod. “I was worried you were too pregnant to insult me.”
“You came all this way just to be annoying?”
“I drove forty minutes to be annoying.” She stepped past you without waiting for an invitation. “And because you’re incapable of taking care of yourself.”
You shut the door behind her with another quiet grumble.
“I heard that.”
“I wanted you to.”
The familiar banter felt…normal.
Comforting.
It was strange how easily Leni filled the apartment with noise. The place had felt oppressively quiet all afternoon.
Now it felt lived in again.
Leni carried the grocery bags into the kitchen and set them on the counter with a dramatic sigh. “I brought goodies,” she announced.
She immediately started unpacking everything.
A box of crackers.
Several bottles of electrolyte drinks.
Bananas.
Applesauce.
A loaf of bread.
A container of plain yogurt.
Your eyebrows slowly climbed higher with every item she pulled out. “You robbed a grocery store?”
“I exercised self-control.” She held up a small bag triumphantly. “Ginger candies.”
You stared at them. “Ginger…candies?”
“My sister-in-law practically survived on these when she was pregnant with my niece.” She tossed the bag onto the counter. “Her morning sickness was awful.”
You wrinkled your nose. “They look weird.”
Leni looked at you as though you’d personally offended her. “They help with nausea.”
“I can barely keep crackers down.”
“Don’t be picky.”
“I literally am.”
“You don’t get to be.” She continued unpacking. “I also brought cherry popsicles.”
Your stomach betrayed you immediately. A quiet growl echoed through the kitchen.
You froze.
Leni froze.
Then, very slowly, she looked at you. “…Did your stomach just answer me?” she asked.
Heat rushed to your face. “No.”
“It absolutely did.”
“It wasn’t me.”
“Oh?” She folded her arms. “So there’s a ghost in your apartment that’s craving popsicles?”
You sighed dramatically, “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“…I don’t.”
A reluctant smile tugged at your lips.
Leni smiled too, pleased she’d managed to get one out of you.
Your hand drifted instinctively toward your stomach. The movement was unconscious. Protective. You rested your palm against the flat plane beneath your T-shirt.
It still felt surreal.
Nothing looked different yet.
If you hadn’t been constantly nauseous, constantly exhausted, constantly aware of every little change happening inside your body…
You almost could have convinced yourself nothing had changed at all.
Leni noticed.
Her hands paused in the middle of unpacking another grocery bag. Her eyes lingered on your hand for just a second.
Not staring.
Just noticing.
Then, quietly, she went back to unpacking.
She didn’t comment.
You appreciated that more than she probably realized.
Once everything was spread across the counter, Leni clapped her hands together.
“Right.” She pointed to you. “Here’s the plan.” You narrowed your eyes suspiciously. “We’re making a night of this.”
“Leni…”
“Nope.” She shook her head. “No arguing.” She pointed toward the freezer. “Those popsicles are going in there…” Then toward the pantry. “…crackers…” Then back at you. “…and you’re going to eat.”
“I have been eating.”
“You’ve been surviving.” She softened just enough to take the sting out of the words. “There’s a difference.”
You looked away.
Because she wasn’t wrong.
Leni walked over and bumped your shoulder with hers.
Gentle.
Affectionate.
“So.” She smiled. “You’re going to feel at least a little better.” A beat passed. “And then we’re going to watch the absolute trashiest television we can find.”
You raised an eyebrow. “I thought you hated reality TV.”
“I do.” She grinned. “But tonight we’re embracing the chaos.”
For the first time all day, the corners of your mouth lifted without forcing them.
Just a little.
It wasn’t much.
But Leni noticed.
She always did.
* * *
The apartment had settled into a comfortable quiet.
The television played some forgettable reality dating show in the background, the contestants loudly arguing over who’d kissed whom while neither of you paid much attention. Empty cracker sleeves and an assortment of snacks littered the coffee table between you.
Leni sat cross-legged on the opposite end of the couch, a container of applesauce balanced in one hand.
You’d somehow made it through half a sleeve of saltines, two ginger candies, and nearly an entire bottle of ginger ale without getting sick.
It was the most you’d managed to eat all day.
Leni watched you for a moment, making sure another wave of nausea wasn’t coming before she finally spoke.
“So…” She scooped another spoonful of applesauce into her mouth. “You’re telling me you caught Robby with other women…” She chewed thoughtfully. “…and he got mad at you?”
You nodded, unwrapping another ginger candy.
“I walked in on him.” Even now, saying it aloud made your stomach twist. “Not once.” You stared at the candy in your hand. “Twice.”
Leni stopped chewing. “…Twice?”
You nodded again, slipping the candy into your mouth.
The sharp bite of ginger spread across your tongue, easing the lingering nausea just enough that you could continue.
“The first time, he said it wasn’t what it looked like.” You laughed quietly. Humorless. “I don’t even remember what excuse he used.”
“The classics, probably,” Leni muttered.
“‘She’s just a friend.’”
“‘You misunderstood.’”
“‘It’s complicated.’”
You huffed out another laugh. “Something like that.”
“And the second time?”
Your shoulders sagged. “He told me I was…” You hesitated before quietly repeating his words. “…‘complicating everything.’”
Silence settled between you.
You stared down at your hands.
“My fault for thinking it was more than it was,” you muttered. The words sounded flat. Resigned. Like you’d repeated them to yourself enough times that they almost felt true.
Leni set the applesauce down a little harder than necessary. “No.”
You blinked. “No?”
“No.” She shook her head firmly. “That’s not your fault.”
You opened your mouth.
She held up a finger, “Don’t.”
You closed it again.
“You didn’t do anything wrong by believing someone who kept showing up.” Her voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable edge to it. “If he wanted something casual, he had every opportunity to say that.”
“He did.”
“When?”
“Eventually.”
Leni gave you a look. “Exactly.”
You sighed, “He kept asking me to stay over.” You paused. “We’d get breakfast together,” you added. You looked down at your lap. “He’d text me after shifts.” You shrugged helplessly. “I thought…”
Your voice trailed off.
Leni’s expression softened. “I know.”
You swallowed hard. “I just thought it meant something.”
“It would have.” She didn’t hesitate. “To most people.”
You rubbed your thumb against the edge of your blanket. “I honestly don’t know what I saw in him.”
Leni snorted. “I do.”
You looked up.
“He was charming…” She ticked points off on her fingers, “…confident…” another finger, “…funny…” another, “…and very good at making you feel like you were the only person in the room.”
You frowned. “Yeah.”
She nodded. “People like that can be really easy to fall for.” A beat passed. “They’re also really good at avoiding accountability.”
You let out a tired sigh. “I should’ve listened to you.”
Leni leaned back dramatically. “I did try to tell you.” She couldn’t help sounding a little smug. “I distinctly remember saying, ‘That man’s going to hurt you.’”
You laughed. A real laugh this time, “Oh, don’t.”
“I’m just saying.”
“You were insufferable.”
“I was correct.”
“Barely.”
“I was entirely correct.”
You reached over and gave her shoulder a gentle shove.
She laughed, nearly spilling her applesauce. “Violence?”
“You earned it.”
“I came over here with groceries.”
“You also came over here to gloat.”
“I came over here to comfort you.” She pointed her spoon toward you. “The gloating is complimentary.”
You rolled your eyes so dramatically it made her laugh harder. For the first time since she’d arrived, the apartment felt almost…normal.
Not because anything had been fixed.
Nothing had.
Robby still didn’t know.
You were still pregnant.
You still had an appointment in two days that terrified you.
But for a few minutes, sitting on the couch trading sarcastic comments with your best friend, the weight on your shoulders didn’t feel quite so crushing.
And for tonight…that was enough.
After a little while, neither of you spoke.
The reality show continued in the background, contestants arguing over manufactured drama while the apartment settled into a comfortable silence. It wasn’t awkward. It never had been between the two of you.
Leni reached for another spoonful of applesauce, glancing toward you over the rim of the container.
She tilted her head toward you. “What’s going on Thursday?” she asked.
You absentmindedly rolled another ginger candy between your fingers before unwrapping it.
“I’ve got an appointment.”
Leni waited.
“At Presby.”
The words felt heavier than they should have.
You slipped the candy into your mouth, letting the familiar warmth of the ginger distract you for a moment.
“They’re going to confirm everything.” You looked down at your hands. “Figure out how far along I am.”
Leni’s expression softened. “The first appointment?”
You nodded. “Yeah.”
She didn’t say anything right away. Instead, she simply set the applesauce on the coffee table and gave you her full attention.
“And…” A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “…you want me to come with you?”
You let out a quiet breath. “Beats going alone.”
It was the closest you’d come all evening to admitting you were scared.
Leni heard it anyway.
She always did.
Without a second’s hesitation, she nodded. “Yeah.” Her answer was immediate. “I’ll go.”
No questions.
No complaints.
No dramatic declarations.
Just three simple words.
A lump formed in your throat. “You don’t have to—”
“I’m aware.” She offered you a small, reassuring smile. “But I want to.”
The knot in your chest loosened, just enough to let you breathe.
“I’ll sit with you.” She shrugged one shoulder. “I’ll hold your purse if you need me to.”
That earned a small laugh from you, “I don’t carry a purse.”
“I’ll hold your phone, then.”
“You make a compelling argument.”
“I know.”
She nudged your knee lightly with hers.
“And if you want me to do the talking because you’re overwhelmed…” Her smile softened. “…I can do that too.”
Your eyes burned unexpectedly. You blinked the feeling away before it could turn into anything more. “Thanks.”
The word came out quieter than you’d intended.
Leni simply smiled. “You don’t have to thank me.”
“I know.” You swallowed. “But…thanks.”
She reached over and squeezed your hand.
Briefly.
“You would’ve done the same for me.” You didn’t even have to think about it. “In a heartbeat.”
“I know.”
Another comfortable silence settled between you. This one felt different.
Lighter.
Not because the fear had disappeared.
The appointment still scared you.
The future still felt uncertain.
Nothing had magically fallen into place.
But for the first time since seeing those two pink lines…
You knew you wouldn’t be walking into that appointment by yourself. And somehow, that made Thursday feel just a little less terrifying.
These are my nurses, and I choose what cases they work on. And if you think for one minute I'm putting anyone else from my staff at risk with that asshole, you better give your fucking head a shake.
Trinity Santos walks into the Pitt everyday with a bucket of unresolved trauma, a toxic yuri situationship, and Dennis Whitaker hanging off her belt like a labubu and still manages to serve cunt
Pairing: Jack Abbot x F!Reader || Past!Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x F!Reader
Summary: Your first confrontation with Robby.
Series Warnings: Angst. Hurt/comfort. Emotional hurt/comfort. Fears and anxieties. Panic attacks. Language. Unplanned pregnancy. Post-break up of situationship. Robby being Robby (disrespectfully). Reader internalizes a lot of their emotions. Tensions. Possible arguments. Guilt. Reader does not like asking for help. Insecurities. Jack being the man he is (respectfully). Jack wanting to take care of reader. Slow burn. Older man x younger wan trope (unspecified age gap). No use of Y/N. Unspecified race and physical descriptions. Mentions of loss of limb. Medical inaccuracies. Mentions of loss of spouse. Mental health. Whatever else I failed to mention.
Author’s Note: I do not own The Pitt in any capacity. The franchise and its characters belong to their rightful owner(s). Similarly, I don’t own any the gifs or pictures used for my fics. All I own are the fic ideas.
Word Count: 2,631(ish)
Series Masterlist || Masterlist
<- Previous Chapter || Next Chapter ->
“Stomach bug?”
Fuck.
You turned toward the voice, your shoulders immediately stiffening.
Robby stood a few feet away, one hand tucked into the pocket of his jacket, the other loosely holding a coffee he’d barely touched. His expression was difficult to read. Not his usual easy grin. Not the detached professionalism he’d worn around you for the last couple of weeks.
Concern.
Or something close to it.
Your stomach lurched.
For a split second, you hated yourself for noticing.
“What do you want?” you asked, unable to keep the bitterness from creeping into your voice.
Robby hesitated. “I came to check on you.”
A hollow laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “You came to check on me?”
He shifted his weight, looking almost uncomfortable.
“I heard you’ve got some stomach bug. Dana’s sending you home.”
You scoffed, shaking your head as you turned back toward your locker. “I don’t need your concern,” you muttered.
Silence settled between you.
You started gathering your things.
You could feel him watching you. Waiting for you to say something else. When you didn’t, he spoke again.
“Look…” His voice was quieter now. “I’ve noticed you’ve been off lately.”
Your fingers tightened around the edge of your backpack.
“You’ve barely talked to anybody.” Another pause. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
That finally made you look at him.
Your nails dug into the strap of your backpack as you slowly turned to face him.
There it was.
The real reason he’d followed you.
Not concern.
Not guilt.
Him.
“I’ve been avoiding you?” you repeated, disbelief coloring every word. “Are you kidding me?”
Robby blinked, clearly caught off guard by your reaction. He took a cautious step forward, saying your name softly.
But you didn’t let him finish.
“No.”
You shook your head, the motion sharp enough to make a loose strand of hair fall into your face.
“You don’t get to turn this around on me.” Your voice trembled despite your best efforts to steady it.
Weeks of frustration, of humiliation and anger and heartbreak, they’d all been simmering just beneath the surface.
Now they threatened to boil over.
“You’re the one who ended…” You gestured vaguely between the two of you. “…whatever the fuck we were doing.” You laughed. Hollow. Brittle. “Remember?”
Robby’s expression tightened.
You barely noticed.
“So don’t stand here pretending you suddenly care about me—” The words came faster now. Each one sharper than the last. “—when you never did in the first place.”
Silence.
Heavy.
Oppressive.
Robby stood perfectly still. His shoulders had gone rigid. His jaw slowly clenched.
The concern you’d seen moments earlier disappeared behind something harder. His eyes darkened. Not with anger. With hurt. And maybe a little frustration.
“I never cared?” His voice was quieter than you expected. Almost incredulous. “Is that seriously what you think?”
You folded your arms across your chest, more to keep yourself together than anything else, before retorting, “What else am I supposed to think?”
Robby opened his mouth. Closed it again. For once, he didn’t have a quick response. After a moment, he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, letting out a slow breath.
“I don’t understand why you’re acting like this.”
The words landed like gasoline on an open flame.
You stared at him. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. A humorless laugh escaped you. “You don’t understand?”
He frowned. “I’m trying here.”
You shook your head again, “No, you’re not.” The distinction hung between you. Painfully clear. “You don’t get to disappear the second things get complicated and then act confused when I don’t want to talk to you.”
His expression faltered.
You saw it, that flicker of guilt crossing his face. Gone almost as quickly as it appeared.
“I wasn’t trying to—”
“I think you should go.”
Your voice had gone quiet.
Dangerously quiet.
Robby looked at you for a long moment. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
That almost broke you. Because once upon a time, hearing those words would’ve made your entire day.
Now they just hurt.
You swallowed hard, forcing the lump in your throat back down.
“I’m fine.”
The lie came automatically.
Robby studied you. “You don’t look fine.”
“I’ll survive.”
“I know you will.” His voice softened. “But you don’t have to keep pretending with me.”
Your breath caught.
If only he knew.
If only he knew how much pretending you were actually doing.
Pretending you weren’t exhausted.
Pretending you weren’t terrified.
Pretending you weren’t carrying a secret that was changing your life by the day.
Pretending seeing him didn’t still hurt.
You met his gaze, your eyes stinging.
You swallowed the lump in your throat, anger flaring in the pit of your stomach. “You’re what, fifty, Robby? And you’re still acting like this? Like I’m supposed to drop everything and pretend we’re fine? Like I’m supposed to ignore how you were texting other women? Meeting other women behind my back…” You shook your head.
“You’re a coward, Robby. And I want nothing to do with you.”
The words were barely above a whisper.
But they landed with the force of a slap.
Robby’s face fell.
Whatever argument he’d been preparing died before it reached his lips.
For the first time since he’d approached you, he looked genuinely speechless.
And despite everything—despite the anger, despite the hurt, despite how desperately you wanted to hate him—seeing that expression still made your chest ache.
You hated yourself for that.
Before Robby could say another word, before your emotions made you regret what you’d said, you slung your backpack over your shoulder.
The movement was quick.
Abrupt.
More of an escape than anything else.
You brushed past him, your shoulder clipping his as you headed for the door.
He said your name.
You didn’t stop.
Didn’t turn around.
If you looked at him again, you weren’t sure what would come out of your mouth.
The locker room door swung open, and you stepped back into the familiar bustle of the Pitt. The noise hit you all at once. Normally, the controlled chaos grounded you.
Today, it felt suffocating.
Your pulse hammered against your ribs.
Your face burned.
The argument replayed in your mind before you’d even reached the hallway.
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
“I don’t understand why you’re acting like this.”
You squeezed your eyes shut for half a second as you walked, trying to force the conversation out of your head.
It didn’t work.
Your stomach rolled violently. Whether it was the pregnancy or the confrontation, you couldn’t tell anymore.
Probably both.
You swallowed against the wave of nausea threatening to climb your throat.
You still needed to order an Uber.
You still needed to call your friend at Presby.
You still needed to schedule your first appointment.
You still needed to figure out what the hell you were going to do.
Robby was the last thing you should’ve been wasting your energy on.
And yet, somehow, the conversation with him left you feeling like you’d been scraped raw.
The locker room door clicked shut behind you. You stopped for just a moment in the hallway. A shaky breath escaped your lungs. Then another.
You pressed the heels of your hands against your eyes, willing yourself to get it together.
Not here.
Not at work.
You refused to let anyone see you fall apart.
The familiar chaos of the Pitt continued around you, but it barely registered now. Nurses hurried past carrying medications. A resident jogged toward trauma, calling for lab results. Someone laughed down the hall.
Life went on.
As if yours hadn’t just tilted on its axis.
You lowered your hands and pulled your phone from your pocket with slightly trembling fingers.
One thing at a time.
Order the Uber.
Call Presby.
Go home.
Sleep.
You could cry later.
Definitely cry later.
Preferably where no one could hear you.
Squaring your shoulders, you started toward the ambulance bay doors.
You needed to get out of here.
Because if you stayed another minute—if one more person asked if you were okay—you were certain you’d implode.
As you stepped outside, the late afternoon air hit you like a bucket of cold water.
You stopped just beyond the front entrance, letting the cool breeze wash over your overheated skin. It helped, if only a little. Your breathing remained uneven, your heart still pounding from your conversation with Robby.
People moved around you in every direction.
Visitors carrying flowers.
Families huddled together.
A paramedic crew unloading another patient from an ambulance.
You stepped farther away from the automatic doors until you found a quiet spot near one of the concrete planters lining the sidewalk.
Your hands trembled as you unlocked your phone.
One thing at a time.
You opened the rideshare app first, requesting an Uber back to your apartment. A driver accepted within seconds.
Eight minutes away.
Good.
One less thing to think about.
Drawing in a slow breath, you navigated to your contacts and selected the number Dana had encouraged you to call.
Presbyterian.
You stared at the screen for several seconds.
Your thumb hovered over the call button.
You could still back out.
You could tell Dana you forgot.
You could wait another week.
Another few days.
Tomorrow.
The excuses came easily.
You closed your eyes.
Then pressed Call.
The line rang twice before someone answered.
“UPMC Presbyterian Women’s Health, this is Megan speaking. How can I help you today?”
Your mouth suddenly felt impossibly dry.
“Hi,” you began quietly. Your voice sounded smaller than you intended. “I’m…um…”
The words caught in your throat.
You looked out toward the steady stream of people entering and leaving the hospital, focusing on strangers instead of your own reflection in the darkened phone screen.
No one from the Pitt.
Good.
You cleared your throat.
“I’m calling because I’d like to schedule…” Another pause. “A prenatal appointment.”
Saying the words aloud made your stomach twist.
The receptionist’s voice remained warm and matter-of-fact.
“Of course. Congratulations.”
The automatic response caught you off guard.
Your throat tightened.
“Thank you,” you murmured, though the words felt strange. “I’m not exactly sure how far along I am.”
“That’s okay,” Megan replied reassuringly. “We’ll help you figure that out. Have you taken a home pregnancy test?”
“Yes.”
“And it was positive?”
You let out a quiet, humorless laugh.
“Several of them.”
“All right.” You could hear the clicking of a keyboard in the background. “Do you happen to remember your last menstrual cycle?”
You squeezed your eyes shut, mentally counting backward. “I think…” You frowned. “About seven weeks ago. Maybe a little longer.”
“That’s helpful.”
More typing.
“Are you having any heavy bleeding or severe abdominal pain?”
“No.”
“What about nausea or vomiting?”
You laughed softly. “Unfortunately.”
“Has it been difficult to keep food or fluids down?”
You hesitated. “Yeah.” The answer came out barely above a whisper. “I’ve been throwing up several times a day.”
“Okay,” Megan said gently. “Make sure you mention that to your provider during your visit. If you find that you can’t keep fluids down for an extended period of time, or you start feeling dizzy or notice signs of dehydration, we want you to seek medical attention sooner. There are medications that can help with nausea during pregnancy, so you don’t have to just suffer through it.”
You swallowed hard.
Dana had been right.
Again.
“We have an opening this Thursday morning with one of our certified nurse midwives, or Friday afternoon with one of our OB/GYN physicians. Either provider can confirm the pregnancy, discuss your symptoms, and get your prenatal care started.”
Thursday.
Two days away.
Your stomach fluttered.
“I’ll take Thursday.”
“Perfect.”
More typing.
“So I’ve got you scheduled for Thursday at 9:30 a.m.,” she said. “We’ll have you arrive about fifteen minutes early to complete paperwork. During that visit, they’ll review your medical history, estimate how far along you are, talk about your symptoms, and discuss the next steps. Depending on how far along you are and the provider’s assessment, they may also schedule your first ultrasound if it’s not done that day.”
The words blurred together slightly.
Medical history.
Ultrasound.
Next steps.
Everything suddenly felt very real.
“Do you have any questions for me today?”
A hundred.
None that you could actually put into words.
You looked toward the hospital entrance again, your eyes unfocused.
“…No,” you said quietly. “I think that’s it.”
“All right. We’ll see you Thursday morning. And if you develop heavy bleeding, severe pain, please don’t wait for your appointment—call us or seek emergency care.”
“I will.”
After another brief exchange, the call ended.
The screen went dark.
For a long moment, you simply stared at your reflection.
You had an appointment.
It was on the calendar now.
There was no pretending this wasn’t happening anymore.
A shaky breath escaped your lips as you slipped your phone back into your pocket.
Your Uber was three minutes away.
Thursday.
The date echoed in your mind.
Two days until someone else confirmed what you already knew.
Two days until the secret you’ve been carrying became just a little more real.
You grabbed your phone out of your pocket, rubbing a hand across your forehead as you let out a long, shaky breath.
Thursday.
The date echoed in your mind, heavier now that it had a time attached to it.
Nine-thirty.
Fifteen minutes early.
Medical history.
Prenatal appointment.
Ultrasound.
Each word seemed to settle deeper into your chest than the last.
You pinched the bridge of your nose, squeezing your eyes shut as you tried to steady your breathing. The knot in your stomach hadn’t eased. If anything, it had tightened.
This was really happening.
You were really pregnant.
The realization still felt surreal, despite the positive tests sitting in the trash can of your apartment bathroom.
For a moment, you considered simply going to the appointment alone.
It would be easier.
No explanations.
No awkward conversations.
No worrying about someone seeing you cry if the reality of it all became too much.
But the thought of sitting in an exam room by yourself, hearing everything for the first time without anyone beside you, made your chest ache.
Dana’s words drifted back into your mind.
You can’t shut yourself out. You need people.
You sighed through your nose.
Maybe she was right.
Maybe.
Unlocking your phone again, you scrolled through your contacts until your thumb paused over Leni.
A small smile tugged at the corner of your mouth.
You’d met during nursing school, surviving clinicals, exams, and too many late-night study sessions fueled by vending machine coffee. Even after ending up at different hospitals, the two of you had never drifted apart. If anything, the distance had made the friendship stronger. There was no competition, no hospital gossip—just someone who had always picked up the phone when you needed her.
If there was anyone you trusted with this…
It was Leni.
Your fingers hovered over the keyboard.
You started typing.
Hey.
You erased it.
Too casual.
Can I ask you something?
Delete.
Too ominous.
With a frustrated sigh, you typed the simplest thing you could think of.
you free on thursday?
Your thumb lingered over the send button.
Once she answered, she’d probably ask why.
You weren’t sure if you were ready for that conversation.
Not over text.
Not yet.
Drawing in a slow breath, you hit Send.
The message disappeared into the conversation.
Now all you could do was wait.
You slipped your phone back into your pocket just as your rideshare app buzzed.
Your driver has arrived.
You glanced toward the curb, spotting a gray sedan pulling into the pickup lane.
