Her hands shook. Her eyes filled. She wanted to laugh. She wanted to scream. She wanted to run to Terrence and say, It’s happening again.
But fear held her mouth shut.
So she wrapped the test in tissue, shoved it deep into the trash, and whispered to herself, “Please, God… just let this one stay.”
She finally told Terrence later that night, softly, like she was delivering bad news.
“I’m pregnant again.”
Terrence paused, then nodded once like she’d told him the electric bill was due.
“Okay,” he said. “Don’t mess it up.”
Those four words sank into her chest like stones.
By morning, Ivonne knew.
Nyla didn’t even ask how. In that family, information traveled faster than kindness.
That afternoon, Ivonne showed up at their apartment with two grocery bags and a face full of authority.
“I brought what you need,” she announced.
She marched into the kitchen and started unpacking jars, leaves, powders, and bottles that smelled like bitterness and warnings.
Nyla stared. “What is that?”
Ivonne waved her hand. “Herbs. Natural medicine. My pastor’s wife uses it. No more losses.”
Nyla tried to speak gently. “I’m already taking what the doctor gave me.”
Ivonne’s eyes cut through her.
“Doctor?” she repeated. “Doctors don’t know everything. And you? You can’t be trusted with your own body.”
