@survivorbuiilt deserves this
She should have known that the closed door wouldn’t keep him out; not now, not with them both still grieving the loss of one of their own ( would they ever not be grieving this loss? ). She hadn’t told Murphy yet; hadn’t even known herself until a couple weeks ago, when the hospital staff congratulated her and assured her they both were okay.
How was it fair that she was okay and he was gone? How could she have left the wreckage with a dislocated shoulder, glass in her arm and a concussion but been released with a clean bill of health barely a day later while he was never going to walk out of that hospital? Maybe if they’d taken him first, if he hadn’t pointed the EMTs to her first maybe he’d still be alive, maybe they could have done something, saved him.
So maybe maybes.
Murphy pushed the door open, but she didn’t bother moving from her spot on the bed where she was curled up in a little ball in one of Mbege’s sweatshirt. She was facing the door, she could see him, and he her. She needed to tell him, she’d been turning it over in her head for the last couple days. Keeping it to herself was killing her. “Hey,” she greeted quietly. She reached a hand out to him. “C’mere…” she pleaded, rolling into a sitting position even as she kept her arms around herself.
“Please don’t be mad,” she started, her eyes on the ground, “I- Murphy I’m pregnant.” She finally glanced up at him, scared of his reaction.












