It was simple enough. She had to pee on a stick and wait for the results.

She took care of business, sat on the floor, set an alarm on the phone, and closed her eyes.

Concentrate on your breathing.

Four-seven-eight. Stay calm.

There’s less than a ten percent chance. You know you’re not pregnant. It was just the perfectly bad timing and how it all came together…

You’re only doing the responsible thing by making sure.

The alarm shrilled in the silent bathroom, making her pulse kick. She held up the stick.

The sight of the + sign hit her like a roundhouse punch. As she stared at it, the world shook around her.

After a while, she flushed the rest of her birth control pills down the toilet, showered and dressed, and headed out. Sure, the result of the test was a shock, but… she felt good about it. Really good.

More than that, she felt eager. Every minute, every mile, every new experience took her further away from the unhappiness of her past, and she wanted all of it. She went exploring, listened to jazz music, ate seafood gumbo.

Then she took a walking tour through the Garden District and bought new clothes that Austin and her mother would have hated and the clever, wealthy residents of their neighborhood would have labeled as regrettably flamboyant, but that she loved.

Tie-dyed dresses, organic cottons, midriff shirts, soft things with color that breathed and flowed with her body. Previously, her chic jewelry had been worth tens of thousands of dollars. Now she bought sterling silver bangles and dangly earrings with moons and stars.

She painted her fingernails and toenails a dark blue, wove small braids into her hair, and for the first time in her life tried eyeliner. After some practice, she managed to create wings that gave the familiar bones of her face an exotic slant.

And when she looked in the mirror, she whispered to the miniscule fetus, “You’re beautiful.”

The next day, she met a handsome musician who tried everything he could to get her to sleep with him. While she appreciated his enthusiasm—and let’s face it, you’ve got to love a man who’s willing to work hard for what he wants—she laughingly turned him down.

But for the space of one evening, she danced with him and felt the heat of her healthy body moving gracefully on a sultry night. They argued about politics and religion while she watched the too-long blond hair flop on his forehead and appreciated his sinewy beauty without feeling the slightest desire to have him.

After staying up all night and eating beignets together before saying goodbye, she took a walk to the Saint Louis Cathedral in Jackson Square and thought to herself, This is what happiness feels like.

I’m happy.