A-Positive

“Samantha Whitmore,” I hear the nurse call.

I look over at Chase. “Let’s go.”

Chase puts away his laptop, always working on something, to be a better person than he was yesterday. He takes my hand as we follow the nurse down the hall. I already know the routine, I’m here every six months.

“We’re going to take your vitals,” she says, as we stop at the vital station. “We also need a urine sample,” Cami, the nurse, tells me.

I put on the thin gown, Chase ties it at the top in the back. I’m thankful to get to keep my pants and bra on. It doesn’t make me feel covered, just less exposed than I could be.

Barbara, another nurse comes in, “Do you have a preference for which hand to put the IV in?”

“My left hand, please.” I’ve always been particular about that.

Barbara cleans my arm, checks my veins. Normal. Familiar. Then she pauses, glancing at the door.

Something in the room shifted, subtle but unmistakable.

“Should I stop?” she asks.

Cami looks shocked. “Her pregnancy test was positive.”

Everything paused, not stopped, just held.

Chase looks stunned, mirroring how I feel. “Can you run it again?”

“We did,” Cami said. “Twice.” She smiles softly as she says, “Congratulations, you’re pregnant.

I’m thirty-two. My kids are ten and twelve, old enough that I’d started to believe we were done. I’d always wanted three kids, but I assumed if it ever happened, it would be planned. Calendar, vitamins, timing. Not this. Not a surprise in a paper gown.

This wasn’t part of the plan. I came in today thinking about needles, recovery, and pain. Now all I can think about is the future.

Not blood.

The rest of the day unfolded the way days do when something big has happened but nothing has caught up yet.

The follow-up appointment came quickly. There were forms, a due date estimated, a vial of blood drawn. I didn’t think much about it. This is my third pregnancy. Bloodwork is standard. Reassuring.

At home, the shock had turned into excitement. My big kids know, plans are being made. Where will the baby sleep? What does this mean for the family?

Dinner moved the same as always. Loud, messy, normal. I stood at the stove, stirring the chili, watching it bubble like it had all the time in the world. The smell filled the kitchen, warm and familiar, the kind of comfort you can taste before you even sit down.

“Mom,” my ten-year-old says, hovering near the pot, “is it ready yet? I’ve been waiting all day for it!”

“Can you grab the bowls?” I ask. The spoons clang as they’re pulled from the drawer and set on the table.

“Alexa,” I say, “announce dinner time.”

“Dinner time,” Alexa says, and the kids scatter, washing hands, grabbing drinks, sliding into their chairs like they might miss something.

I ladle chili into bowls, add cheese, and pass the crackers across the table. Chase sits down like he’s been there the whole time.

Kids talk over each other about friends, teachers, and math homework due tomorrow.

My phone buzzes on the table next to me. A notification: “New or Updated Test Results.” Everything looked normal at first. Numbers. Ranges. Words I’d look up later if anything looked off.

Then one line stopped me.

A-positive.

I blink like the letters might rearrange themselves. I scroll for an explanation. This doesn’t make sense.

My mother had always told me that my blood type was O-positive. I’ve repeated this at doctor’s appointments; it’s on my license, even. O-positive. Always O-positive.

The kids’ voices carried on without me. I’d heard this noise before, sitting at a different table, trying to concentrate while my brothers talked in the next room, the news on TV, my pencil tapping on the table.

“Investigators named Bruce Thompson as a person of interest in the Queen Anne’s Road murder. Police confirmed that Thompson’s blood type, A-positive, matches evidence collected at the scene.”

I went back to the math problem, already half-forgetting what the TV had said.

After dinner, we had to do the dishes, take showers, and get in bed. My mind couldn’t stop moving so I stayed up reading. I was supposed to be asleep.

It was quiet in the house at first, then I heard the creaking stairs, familiar sounds of my parents coming up for bed.

The walls were thin, thin enough that I’d learned what voices sounded like when they were meant to be private.

“I didn’t tell you—”

“The timeline—”

“He always suspected—”

“Do we know her blood type?”

“Should we find out?”

“He’s on the run.”

“Do you think he’ll come back?”

Their voices started to fade as my eyes got heavy, the whispers turning into white noise as I fell asleep.

I put my hand on my growing belly, the baby kicking me, the sounds of kids arguing, the smell of chili reminding me where I was.

The morning light shines through the windows. It’s always so quiet with the kids at school.

I grab the two cups of coffee and carry them to the table, giving one to Chase, taking a seat next to him.

“You’re quiet today. What’s on your mind?” Chase asks.

I sip my coffee, sigh, and say, “My test results show my blood type is A-positive. My mom told me it was O-positive my whole life.”

“Did you talk to your mom?”

“I did,” I say. I take another sip of coffee, savoring the deep, sweet caramel flavor. “She says there’s a possibility that my father is someone else.”

“OK,” he says, his mug hovering near his mouth. “What’s the next step?”

“I don’t know. I need some time,” I say, sliding my chair back and pouring another cup of coffee. “If I find out, everything changes. I’m not ready for that yet.”

I stand at the counter, adding cream and sugar to my cup when I hear Chase’s footsteps. He takes the cup from my hand and pulls me in for a hug. He scratches my head. “You don’t have to make any decisions right now. I’m here for you. I love you.”

A wave of calm washes over me.

I rest my hand on my belly. Finally, I can breathe.