Elisa sat alone on the edge of the cold marble tub, the en-suite bathroom still heavy with steam from the shower she had never taken. The plastic stick trembled between her manicured fingers like a live wire.
Two pink lines.
The two pink lines she has been yearning to see it forever..
For the first time in four barren years, hope flooded her chest like sunlight pouring through the stained-glass skylight of the family chapel; bright, impossible, sacred.
She pressed the test to her heart first, then lowered it reverently to her still-flat belly, palms spread wide as if she could already feel the flutter of wings.
"Finally," she whispered, voice cracking on the word. "A child. My child. A bridge."
A reason for Alessandro to look at her the way he once had on their wedding day; like she was the beginning and end of his world, not a failure in designer gowns.
She closed her eyes, tears slipping free, and allowed herself one trembling, delirious smile.
