Chapter 6: First Pregnancy

The sticky late-summer heat clung to us like a second skin as we pulled into the driveway of the Midwest house, the cabin’s pine-scented nights still fresh in our lungs. August had slipped in quietly, turning the air thick and golden, heavy with the promise of thunderstorms that never quite broke. I killed the Mustang’s engine, and for a moment we sat there—four bodies still humming from the week of sun, water, and unrelenting release—letting the familiar creak of the garage door roll up like a curtain on the next act.

That night I woke to the soft press of bare skin on both sides. Mia’s back curved against my chest, her long black hair fanned across the pillow, one of my arms draped over her waist so my palm rested flat on the gentle plane of her stomach. Mom spooned in tight behind me, her fuller breasts warm against my shoulder blades, one leg hooked over mine. The ovulation apps on their phones had become ritual—little glowing charts we checked together each morning like sacred texts. My thumb traced a slow circle over Mia’s belly button, mind already racing ahead to what those lines might mean in the coming days.

Morning light filtered through the blinds, soft and forgiving. Mia stirred first, slipping out of bed with a quiet kiss to my forehead. “Bathroom,” she whispered, but her eyes held something heavier. We followed without needing words—Mom and I padding after her down the hall, still naked, the house quiet except for the hum of the air conditioner fighting the August warmth.

She sat on the edge of the tub, knees together, the plastic stick balanced on the sink counter. The three of us crowded around it like it was the most important thing in the world. Two minutes stretched into eternity. My heart thudded against my ribs. In my first life I’d had nothing—no one to build with, no legacy, just empty nights and deeper regrets. Now my seed was taking root inside my own sister, rewriting everything.

The second line appeared, faint at first, then bold and unmistakable. Positive.

Mia’s breath caught. Tears spilled instantly, bright and joyful, tracking down her cheeks as she stared at the test. “It’s real,” she breathed. “Jake ... it’s ours.”

Mom pulled her into a fierce hug, both of them rocking gently, laughing through the tears. I wrapped my arms around them both, feeling the tremor in Mia’s shoulders, the way her still-flat stomach pressed against me. Protective fire surged through my veins, raw and primal—this was my bloodline starting right here, in the woman I’d claimed without hesitation. No more lonely do-over. I was building something unbreakable.

The rest of the day unfolded in a haze of quiet celebration and deepening routine. I worked at the kitchen table, laptop open to the dropshipping dashboard—consistent five-figure profits rolling in from the exact gadgets I’d timed to every back-to-school spike I remembered. More Bitcoin buys layered in quietly during the afternoon dip, compounding in silence while I researched my first real-estate flip: a fixer-upper two blocks over, priced low because the seller needed cash fast. 2018 market knowledge was pure gold.