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𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐏𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐘

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The sterile smell of antiseptic filled the waiting room at Planned Parenthood as Sunshine sat next to her mother, her leg bouncing with nervous energy. 

Sunshine glanced at the laminated pamphlets scattered across the small table in front of her, all filled with information she didn't want to read. Even though she knew, deep down, that she wasn't pregnant, the anxiety gnawed at her anyway.

Vivien sat silently beside her, flipping through an outdated magazine, but Sunshine could feel the tension radiating off her mother. She kept shifting in her seat, eyes flicking occasionally to her daughter, as if ready to ask another question but holding back. She stared down at her hands, which had grown clammy.

A nurse behind the front desk called someone else's name, and Sunshine watched as another girl—a little younger than her—stood up, looking just as anxious. 

Why am I nervous? She asked herself, though the answer was obvious. The symptoms, the fear, the pressure of what it would mean if she was—it all weighed on her, even though she'd told herself a hundred times it wasn't possible. She hadn't even had sex until recently, and there was no way the timeline matched up. It had to be a false positive, she kept reassuring herself, over and over.

The door to the back opened, and another nurse stepped out. "Sunshine Harmon?"

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Sunshine's feet dangled off the edge of the exam table, her sneakers grazing the sterile paper. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a clinical glow over everything.

The nurse stood by the counter, flipping through her folder with a practiced detachment that made Sunshine feel more like a file than a person. 

"I'm just going to ask you a couple of questions," the nurse said, barely looking up. 

Sunshine nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. Her hands fidgeted in her lap, fingers twisting together. She wasn't sure if the tightness in her chest was from nerves or the unbearable tension of waiting. Every minute stretched into what felt like hours.

"Last period?" the nurse asked, finally glancing up as she scribbled in the folder.

Sunshine's mind scrambled, trying to remember. The days had blurred together so much lately. "Uh... late August, I think."

"Any drugs or alcohol?" The nurse's voice was monotone, professional, but Sunshine felt a sudden surge of defensiveness rise in her chest. She hesitated for a second too long, her mind flicking to the little pills hidden in her room. She kept her expression neutral.

"No," she lied, her voice firmer than she expected.

The nurse didn't seem to notice the slight tension in her tone. She continued. "Are you currently on any medications?"

"No," Sunshine repeated, this time more certain.

The nurse made a final note in her folder before setting it aside, her expression unreadable. "Okay, temperature and blood pressure look good," she said, slipping the cuff from Sunshine's arm and reaching for the door. "The doctor will be in shortly. Go ahead and change into the gown and cover your legs with the cloth."

Sunshine nodded again, but the moment the door clicked shut behind the nurse, a wave of unease rolled over her. She stood up slowly, her limbs feeling too heavy for her body, and walked to the counter. 

Once the gown was on, she sat back down, the crinkling paper beneath her loud in the deafening silence of the room. Her legs, now covered by the thin paper cloth, felt cold, exposed. She stared at the closed door, every second stretching longer than the last.

Sunshine's heart picked up as the door creaked open, revealing the doctor, clipboard in hand. The doctor didn't look up immediately, eyes scanning the paperwork before she glanced over at Sunshine.

"Ms. Harmon?" the doctor asked, her tone polite but professional.

Sunshine managed a smile, though it felt forced and hollow. "That's me," she replied, trying to steady her breathing.

"How are you doing today?" Dr. Martinez asked, stepping fully into the room and closing the door behind her.

Sunshine shrugged, feeling the coolness of the paper gown against her skin. "Fine," she said, though her voice betrayed her. She was anything but fine.

The doctor, still smiling kindly, nodded. "I'm Dr. Martinez. I'll be doing your ultrasound today."

Sunshine gave a stiff nod, feeling exposed in more ways than one. 

Dr. Martinez began prepping the equipment, her movements fluid and practiced as she pulled out the leg holders from the exam table. "Lay back for me," she instructed, motioning toward the table.

Sunshine did as she was told, lowering herself onto the exam table. She placed her feet in the rests, the cool air brushing against her as her heart pounded in her chest.

The doctor moved to sit in her rolling chair, now at eye level with the ultrasound machine. She snapped on a pair of gloves before grabbing the ultrasound probe, the squelch of the gel filling the silence as she applied it to the tip of the instrument.

"This'll be a little cold, and you'll feel some pressure," Dr. Martinez said softly, glancing up at Sunshine to gauge her readiness.

"Okay," Sunshine barely managed to say, her voice tight. She braced herself, and within moments, the cool probe was inserted. Sunshine winced, her fingers dug into the edges of the exam table as she stared up at the dark ceiling, trying to ground herself in anything other than the discomfort she was feeling.

A loud thumping sound echoed in the room, steady and rhythmic. Sunshine's head snapped toward the doctor, panic flooding her veins. "What's that?" 

Dr. Martinez glanced at her with a calm expression. "That would be the heartbeat," she said, her tone gentle but matter-of-fact. She adjusted the screen so Sunshine could see it better. "This is the amniotic sac," " and this..." Dr. Martinez's finger hovered over the screen, pointing at a small, barely formed shape. "This is the fetus."

Her gaze locked onto herself the tiny, indistinct figure on the screen—fragile and real. "What?" she whispered as she lifted up slightly on her elbows, trying to get a better look at the image in front of her.

"You look to be about nine weeks," Dr. Martinez added, her eyes focused on the screen.

Nine weeks. Pregnant. The words echoed in Sunshine's head, bouncing around like some surreal nightmare she couldn't wake up from. The room spun around her, a dizzying tilt that made her stomach churn. This couldn't be real. It couldn't be happening. She hadn't even fully processed Tate being dead, let alone this.

A wave of nausea overtook her, her face draining of color as she struggled to catch her breath. She felt faint, her body growing weaker by the second. Dr. Martinez must have noticed because, without missing a beat, she slid over and handed Sunshine a trash can.

Sunshine barely had time to grip it before she doubled over, vomiting into the can as her mind raced a mile a minute. Her whole world was spiraling, collapsing in on itself with every retch, with every harsh, unrelenting thought. Pregnant. It was impossible. 

She pulled the trash can closer, gripping it tightly as her thoughts twisted in every direction. 

Maybe God was real after all. 

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Sunshine sat in the waiting room, nervously picking at her nails, her mind still reeling. Her mother had just been given the news, and now the weight of it all pressed down on her. Sunshine felt numb, the tears that had earlier streamed down her cheeks now replaced by a hollow emptiness.

Vivien, sitting beside her, looked at her daughter with a mixture of concern and heartbreak. Gently, she placed a hand on Sunshine's back, her voice soft as she asked, "Are you sure you want to go through with this, right now? You don't want to think about it a little longer?"

Sunshine blinked, her puffy eyes glazed over from crying. "I can't bring a baby to Juilliard, Mom." Her voice was steady, but the exhaustion and sorrow in her words were undeniable.

Vivien's expression softened, her heart breaking for her daughter. "I'm sorry, sweetie," she murmured, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Sunshine's ear, trying to offer comfort in whatever way she could.

Sunshine swallowed hard, her throat tight. "Mom?" Her voice was small, hesitant. "Can you... can you not mention any of this to Dad?"

Vivien paused, studying her daughter's face for a long moment before nodding. "Of course," she said softly, understanding the depth of Sunshine's plea.

"Thank you," Sunshine whispered, her voice barely audible.

Vivien stood, clutching her purse. "I'll get this paid for," she said, heading toward the front desk. 

Sunshine watched her mother walk away, feeling an ache settle in her chest. The thought flickered through her mind—was she defying God? Was it wrong to take control of her own future like this? Maybe, but if God was real, wouldn't He know that there was no room for a baby in her life right now? She had dreams—dreams that had no space for a child.

When Vivien returned, a nurse appeared, calling Sunshine back into a quieter room with a small desk and a single chair. The room felt even more isolated than before. Sunshine sat down, her fingers twisting together in her lap as she tried to steady her breathing.

The nurse settled across from her, flipping through paperwork, her pen clicking as she prepared to ask the next round of questions. "Any history of depression?" the nurse asked, glancing up from the form.

"Um, no," Sunshine replied, her voice flat.

"Family history of depression?"

"My sister," Sunshine said quietly, her thoughts briefly drifting to Violet.

"Any history with drugs or alcohol?" the nurse asked, eyes still on the paper.

"No."

"Any family history with addiction? Alcohol? Other substances?"

Sunshine shook her head, feeling her heart pick up speed. The room felt colder with every question, every pause between her responses.

"Okay." The nurse scribbled down her answers before looking up. "How do you feel about being here today?"

Sunshine shifted in her seat, swallowing hard. "Nervous, I guess."

"Any reservations about the procedure? Any second thoughts?"

Sunshine bit her lip, then shook her head. "No."

The nurse gave her a small, understanding nod, finishing up the last of her notes before pushing her chair back slightly. She reached for a small, square box as she explained, "I'll be administering the mifepristone now, and then when you get home—or within 48 hours—you'll need to insert the four misoprostol pills vaginally."

Sunshine nodded, her hands fidgeting nervously in her lap. "Okay."

The nurse stood up, filling a small plastic cup with water before placing it on the table in front of Sunshine. "You've been prescribed hydrocodone for the pain. You'll want to take that about 30 minutes before you insert the pills. " 

The nurse opened the box and handed Sunshine a single pill.

Sunshine stared at it, the small pill feeling like the heaviest thing in the world as it sat in her palm. Without giving herself more time to think, she popped the pill into her mouth and chased it down with a quick gulp of water.

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Night had fallen and the usual quiet felt thicker as everyone but Sunshine slept. She moved slowly, her limbs heavy and dulled from the painkiller. The misoprostol had done its job, and though the pain had been unbearable at first, now it was numbed, distant, like something that had happened to someone else. 

She could breathe now. No more wracking sobs, no more agony coiling through her body. Just... relief. And maybe, she thought with a hazy smile, a little happiness, though she knew it was most likely the pills.

Her mind felt lighter too, disconnected from the chaos of the past few days. She hadn't even thought about her so-called immaculate conception since the medication took effect.

Her bare feet padded down the steps, the wooden floor creaking beneath her toes as she wandered into the kitchen. She moved almost on autopilot, her thoughts a swirl of floating fragments, as she poured herself a glass of water. Her vision blurred slightly, and she blinked, trying to clear her head.

"Where's my baby?"

Sunshine froze, staring at the water spilling across the floor as the glass slipped from her hand. 

The voice was soft, broken by grief. Sunshine's breath hitched, and she spun around, her eyes wide. A woman stood behind her—blonde, with tears streaking down her pale cheeks, her dress something from another era. 

Sunshine's pulse thundered in her ears, her feet throbbed where the glass had bit into them, but the pain barely registered against the terror crawling under her skin.

The woman's tear-filled eyes locked onto hers, her voice trembling. "Where's my baby?" she asked again as if Sunshine held the answer to a loss so deep.

"I... I don't know," Sunshine stammered, shaking her head but the woman's desperation only grew more frantic, more aggressive. Her eyes wild with grief, the blonde woman lunged forward, grabbing Sunshine by the shoulders and shaking her violently.

"Give me my baby!" the woman demanded, her voice breaking, every word sharper than the next.

Sunshine whimpered, her body trembling as she tried to pull free. "Let go of me," she pleaded, panic rising as the woman's grip tightened, her nails biting into her skin. Tears welled up in Sunshine's eyes as she struggled against the woman's relentless hold.

A voice cut through the chaos. "Go away! You're scaring her!"

Tate appeared behind her, his voice firm, and the moment Sunshine heard it, she turned and clung to him, her body shaking as she buried her face into his chest. Tate's arms wrapped protectively around her, anchoring her in the storm of emotions swirling inside. He placed a gentle hand on her cheek, cradling her head as she cried into him.

Sunshine turned her head slightly, her breath still ragged, and saw that the woman had vanished. She hadn't even realized she was crying until her breath shuddered painfully.

"Sunshine, it's okay," Tate soothed, his voice soft as he pulled back just enough to look into her tear-streaked face. His thumb brushed away her tears with gentle strokes. "Calm down, okay?"

"I'm going crazy," Sunshine whispered. The remnants of the painkillers still dulled her senses, mixing with the emotional exhaustion of the day, making everything feel unreal, as if she were drowning in her own mind.

Tate shook his head softly, his eyes full of understanding. "You're not crazy. They're from the past. The ghosts of people who've died here. They're appearing to you now because you're... evolved," he explained, his voice steady. "Don't be scared. All you have to do is tell them to go away. And they will."

Sunshine swallowed hard, her chest rising and falling as she fought to regain control. She nodded slowly, stepping back slightly from Tate's embrace. But a sharp pain shot through her, and she winced, looking down at her feet. Blood dripped from the small cuts where she had stepped on the shattered glass, painting the floor red.

"Let's get you cleaned up, okay?"

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Sunshine lay on her back, her body heavy and sore, watching through a sleepy haze as Tate gently cleaned the wounds on her feet. The sight of blood had long lost its shock, but exhaustion from the day made her grateful for his help. 

He worked in silence as he wiped away the blood and wrapped her cuts with care. It was strange—comforting, yet surreal—to see him, someone who wasn't supposed to be here, tending to her as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Tate finished, getting up to pull open her sock drawer as if he'd always known where it was. He found a pair before walking back to the bed. Without a word, Sunshine lifted her foot slightly, and Tate slid the sock on, repeating the process with her other foot. 

When he finished, Tate moved closer to her and placed his hand on her cheek. His thumb stroked her skin gently. "You doing okay?" he asked, his voice quiet.

Sunshine blinked up at him, the words forming in her mind but too tangled to speak. She shook her head, the smallest motion, but it said everything.

Tate's expression softened, his hand slipping away as a small frown pulled at his lips. He didn't push, didn't ask any more questions. Just waited.

"Will you lay with me?" Sunshine's voice cracked.

Tate watched her for a moment, as if weighing her request, before he nodded. "Yeah."

He climbed onto the bed beside her, and Sunshine rolled onto her side, facing the wall. His arm draped over her waist, pulling her close, his warmth settling against her back. The tension in her body began to melt away, her breathing evening out as his presence washed over her. It felt safe, here with him. For the first time that day, she felt okay.

Sunshine's fingers found his, interlocking with them. She could feel the exhaustion tugging at her, but her mind briefly flashed to the basement, to Tate's words about the house's history. 

The thought lingered, twisting in her drowsy brain. "Was that Nora?" she asked softly, her voice thick with sleep.

There was a beat of silence before Tate responded. "Yeah, it was."

"Hmm," was all Sunshine could manage, her eyes growing heavier, her body surrendering to the warmth and comfort. Her thoughts began to blur, floating on the edge of sleep.

"Where were you today?" Tate asked quietly, his breath warm against her neck.

"Doctors," she mumbled, her words barely making it out as sleep tugged harder at her. She felt his hand gently brushed her hair back, his lips pressing a soft kiss to the side of her head.

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