It had been a month since Denzel walked away.
And yet, somehow, I was still standing in the ruins of us.
Every morning, I hoped the ache would ease. That I'd open my eyes and feel whole again. But no—every day started with a fog of grief, a weight pressing against my ribs, and the stubborn echo of his voice in my head. His hands, his scent, the way he used to say my name like it meant more than syllables. It was all still there, haunting me.
I barely recognized myself now.
I woke up late again, dragging my heavy body from the warmth of my childhood bed. The room smelled like old lavender and clean linen. Familiar. Safe. But nothing felt safe anymore.
When I stepped into the kitchen, the sun was already high. Mom stood by the door, dressed for work in her pale blue uniform. She paused when she saw me.
Her eyes scanned me like she was looking for cracks. "My baby," she said, walking over and pulling me into a hug. "You've lost weight, Star. You need to get over this guy."
I didn't respond. I just held onto her, eyes closed, heart hollow.
She pulled back gently, cupping my face. "It's not like he promised you a forever happy ending. You knew what you were putting yourself into, so please… stop hurting yourself."
"I can't, Mom." My voice cracked. "I don't know how."
"You have to," she said with a softness that broke me more than any harshness would have. "Same way you did with Tony. I can't bear seeing you like this—losing yourself for someone who doesn't even know what to do with a heart like yours."
She kissed my forehead, picked up her bag, and paused at the door. "Please eat something. You haven't had a proper meal in days. I'm going to work."
I nodded, barely managing the movement. She left, and the apartment fell into quiet again. The kind that scratches at your skin.
I tried. I really did.
I made toast, boiled a few eggs, poured orange juice. But the moment the smell hit me, my stomach twisted violently. I clutched the edge of the counter as nausea slammed into me like a wave.
Then I ran.
My feet slapped against the cold tile floor as I stumbled into the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before I threw up everything—and nothing.
I stayed hunched there for what felt like forever, the taste of acid in my throat, the tile cool against my cheek as I sat back on the floor, trembling.
What the hell was wrong with me?
I heard the front door creak open, then footsteps.
"Star?" Zoey's voice rang through the apartment. "I brought donuts! And news! Where are you—?"
She appeared in the doorway, holding a paper bag and wearing a wide smile—until she saw me.
"Oh my god," she said, rushing in. "What happened?"
I shook my head, breath shallow. "I just… I don't know. I got sick. Out of nowhere."
Zoey crouched beside me, her face filled with alarm and something else… something calculating. "How long has this been happening?"
I didn't want to answer.
She looked at me harder. "Star. When was your last period?"
"I—" I blinked. "I… I don't know. Maybe a month and a half ago?"
Her eyes widened. "We're going to the clinic. Now."
"I need a bath," I mumbled.
"No problem. Take your time. But after that, we're getting answers."
She helped me up slowly, and I dragged myself to the bathroom. I started the water, sat on the edge of the tub, and just stared at the steam curling through the air.
Pregnant.
Was that even possible?
I closed my eyes and leaned back as the water warmed my skin. The thought made my breath catch. A baby. Denzel's baby.
Would he want it? Would he hate me for it?
I wrapped my arms around myself, the water lapping gently against my skin. Tears came slowly, uninvited. My body wasn't just mourning him anymore. It was scared.
What if this changed everything?
What if it didn't?
And what if I wasn't ready?
I dressed slowly after the bath, pulling on soft jeans and a hoodie, trying to ignore the heaviness in my chest. Zoey was waiting with the car keys already in hand, looking at me like she knew I was somewhere between fragile and falling apart.
We drove in silence, the radio low, the morning sun too bright.
At the clinic, the nurse took me in for a quick consult. Questions. Blood pressure. Symptoms. Then a test.
Zoey sat with me in the waiting area, fingers fidgeting with her purse strap.
Then the nurse returned.
"You're pregnant," she said, gently. "Almost two months along."
The air left my lungs.
Zoey let out a gasp, and then, a second later, a squeal. "Oh my god! Star!"
I stared straight ahead, heart hammering.
Two months.
I felt like I was underwater. Like my body knew something my mind hadn't been ready to accept.
Zoey wrapped her arms around me. "You're gonna be a mom."
"I… I don't know what to do," I whispered.
"We'll figure it out," she said fiercely. "We always do."
On the way back, she insisted we pass McDonald's. "You need to eat. For the baby," she added with a wink.
I picked at my fries, still trying to comprehend the storm inside me.
"I have something else to tell you," she said between bites. "I found you a job."
My head snapped up. "What? How?"
"My cousin's friend owns a cute little boutique downtown. She needs someone at the register. I told her you're reliable, and you've got the best fashion sense ever."
I blinked, the edges of a smile forming. "Seriously?"
Zoey nodded proudly. "You start next week if you're up for it. It's part-time. Flexible. Just enough to keep you busy—and give you space to figure everything else out."
Emotion rose in my throat again, but this time, it was different. Not grief.
Hope.
"Thank you," I said, voice cracking.
"You've got this, mama."
I looked out the window, one hand resting gently against my stomach.
I still didn't know what Denzel would say. I didn't even know if I'd tell him.
But for the first time in weeks, I didn't feel completely lost.
Just… suspended. Between what was, what could've been, and what comes next.