Chapter 1
During my junior year, the pregnancy test showed two lines, and the ultrasound revealed twins.
I handed the results to my boyfriend, Ryan Reynolds, trembling. He called home eight times, but no one answered.
At 2 a.m., his dad finally texted back. [Get rid of it.]
Ryan was silent for a full minute, then said, "I'll listen to my dad."
At the clinic, I bled out. In the last second before I lost consciousness, I heard the nurse scream, "Her blood pressure has gone."
I died.
But then I opened my eyes again.
The calendar showed there were three days to go until the morning I found out I was pregnant.
This time, I touched my flat stomach and dialed the first number, not his.
*****
The pregnancy test showed two lines.
I was squatting in the dorm bathroom, my hands shaking so badly that I could barely hold the test.
Second test, two lines again.
Third test, still two lines.
I placed all three tests side by side on the sink and stared at them for ten minutes, my mind blank.
All I could think was that I was screwed.
Junior year, finals week, and I was pregnant.
When I called Ryan, he was at the library.
He came rushing over, out of breath and sweating, and the moment he saw the tests, all the color drained from his face.
"Are you sure?" Ryan asked.
"All three are positive," I replied.
"Is there any chance they're wrong?"
"What do you think?"
Ryan dropped into a squat, buried his face in his hands, and stayed silent.
I said, "Let's go to the hospital and make sure."
*****
At the hospital off campus, in the ultrasound room, the doctor pressed the probe to my stomach, and two tiny dots appeared on the screen.
"Twins. About six weeks along," the doctor said.
My head buzzed.
Ryan waited outside the curtain. I passed him the ultrasound report, and as soon as he looked at it, his hands started to tremble, too.
"What do we do?" Ryan asked.
He was looking to me for answers.
I said, "You should talk to your family first."
He started calling.
He called eight times, but nobody answered.
He gripped his phone tightly. He looked like he could barely breathe from the stress.
We sat on the plastic chairs in the hospital hallway, neither of us saying a word.
At 2 a.m., his phone lit up.
His dad finally texted him back. [Get rid of it.]
Ryan stared at the screen for a full minute.
He looked up at me, his lips trembling, struggling to find the words. "I'll listen to my dad."
I said, "These are two lives."
"My dad is right. We're still in college. We can't take care of ourselves, let alone two kids."
"What do you think?"
"I-I guess my dad is right."
I pressed him again. "What do you think?"
He didn't answer.
He always dodged questions like this.
*****
Three days later, Ryan found a small, independent clinic off campus.
It wasn't a hospital, just a low-cost reproductive center.
But it was the only option that wouldn't bury us in medical debt.
When I lay down on that narrow bed, the air was thick with the sharp smell of disinfectant and something else, something metallic and sickly sweet.
The nurse gave me a shot and said, "Just relax."
Relax? No way.
Ryan was waiting outside.
When the procedure started, the pain was so sharp that I bit through my lip, tasting blood.
Suddenly, I felt a hot, sticky flood between my legs that wouldn't stop.
The nurse's face drained of color.
She pressed down hard on my stomach and yelled for the doctor.
The doctor rushed over, and I saw his hands were completely covered in blood.
My blood.
The nurse screamed, "Her blood pressure's gone."
Everything went dark.
In the last second, I heard Ryan shouting from outside. "What's happening? What's going on?"
And then everything went black.
I died.