Page 255 of Mario

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Because he will know.

Not the details, but he will take one look at me, and he will know something is wrong. He will see it in my face, in my posture, in the way I fail to hold his gaze.

And then he will ask.

Or maybe not.

Mario does not ask when he already suspects he can get the answer another way.

He will corner me with that calm, terrifying patience and wait me out until I either lie badly or tell him something I have no business saying without verified facts.

I need facts.

Yes, that’s what I need.

I press my palms flat against the desk and stare at my closed browser like I can still see the word in front of me.

Pregnant.

I push back from the desk too fast, and my chair bumps lightly against the credenza behind me.

The sound makes me flinch.

I need to get out of here.

I need to breathe. I need to think.

I need to buy a test and stop sitting here with one more unanswered question.

Because if I am not pregnant, then at least one crisis has been averted.

If I am pregnant—

No.

My hand goes to my stomach again before I can stop it.

If I am pregnant, then this is not a spiral.

This is my life splitting open.

And if the other thing is true too?

If the articles are not just rumors?

If Mario did kill Anna?

My breathing goes short and shallow.

Then what?

What do I do?

How do I carry a child that could be his while wondering if his wife died because he…

The thought is so ugly I gag on it.

Then I simply slide to the floor in front of the trash can and empty my stomach.

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