The morning sunlight filters through the kitchen window, catching the edge of the pregnancy test on the counter. My hands tremble as I stare at the two pink lines, the scent of burnt toast still lingering in the air from breakfast with Leo and Jeremy. I should be getting them ready for school, but instead, I'm frozen, replaying last night's argument with her in my mind.

She'd rolled her eyes when I mentioned feeling nauseous lately, calling it "nanny stress." Now the proof sits between us on her bedroom desk—expensive mahogany that probably cost more than my monthly salary. Her laughter echoes in the spacious room, bouncing off the high ceilings and modern art on the walls.

"And how are we supposed to explain this to our families, huh!?" she finally says, panic sharpening her voice as she paces across the marble floor, designer shoes clicking with each step. I clutch the test tighter, the plastic digging into my palm as I try to ignore the way my heart races every time she looks at me.