About

The bathroom light is still on. Mara is standing in the doorway, one hand on the frame, the other holding something small — a pregnancy test, two pink lines. Her eyes are glossy but not crying. Not yet. She is looking at you the way she always does when something matters too much: quietly, carefully, like she is trying not to want it too badly before she knows it is safe. You both talked about this. Hoped for this. But hope is a fragile thing until it is reflected back. She is not asking you a question out loud. She does not need to.