Perfectly Wrong (Elena & Sam Musical)

Epilogue

John and I were waiting at the departure lounge of Toronto Airport for our flight to New York. Boarding was in forty-five minutes, and I had to endure my friend’s complaints the entire time. I was always extra cautious when flying, arriving at least two hours before boarding. Rebooking flights was a hassle and always meant losing money, and I couldn’t afford that, not with a new life waiting for me in another country.

“You really need to stop whining,” I told John as we wandered through a bookstore. “At least you won’t miss the flight this time, unlike all those other times.”

He rolled his eyes and followed me, reminding me of how much sleep he’d sacrificed because of my punctuality.

“I have no idea why I’m still friends with you. You’re lucky I love you,” he teased, making me stifle a laugh. “But you seem oddly cheerful today. What’s up?”

I shrugged. “I cried my eyes out last night.” I sighed, the weight of everything settling in. “But then I thought about it. If I’m starting fresh, I want it to be really new. I don’t want to drag all that negative energy with me to New York. So I’m leaving it behind and deciding to give life another shot. I’ve done it before; why not do it again now?”

John hugged me and kissed the top of my head. “You’re amazing, and I’m so proud of you.” I looked up at him and grinned. “But we are never getting to an airport this early again!”

I made a face and stepped back. “Here’s the deal: you stay here with your grumpy self while I run to the pharmacy.”

Before he could protest, I walked out of the store. I had this thing for pharmacies—they had a way of making you buy things you didn’t need and spend money you didn’t have. Still, they were my favourite places to browse.

A few minutes later, I found myself chuckling at a display shelf. They’d lined up vibrators, condoms, and pregnancy tests in a neat little sequence. It seemed like a not-so-subtle warning: if you swap the vibrator for the real deal and skip the condoms, well, here’s your next step.

But then something clicked, and guilt washed over me. I realized, almost panicking, that I should have had my period one, maybe two weeks ago. But there’d been nothing—no symptoms, no signs. My cycle was always clockwork, never a day late since I was twelve. I shook off the thought, certain it was just stress. But, before I knew it, I was grabbing a pregnancy test and heading to the self-checkout, shoving the box into my bag as I met John at the gate.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” I whispered to John, hoping he’d let me through. We were in a row with only two seats, and he’d been kind enough to give me the window. I thought about waiting until we landed, but my anxiety was like a storm building inside me. I had to take the test now, or I’d lose my mind.

“You’re kidding, right?” he muttered, irritated. “We’ve been in the air for like three minutes, and you went before we boarded.”

I raised my brows. “Since when are you in charge of tracking my bathroom breaks? Come on, let me through!”

John sighed dramatically and got up. I practically ran to the bathroom, my purse clutched tight. My heart was pounding, and I thought I might faint. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, searching for any sign of change, any hint of what might be going on inside me. But I looked the same.

I read the instructions carefully and followed them to the letter. Peeing on a stick was harder than it sounded, especially with turbulence. I closed the blue cap and placed the test on the sink, as directed. I got dressed again and waited, trying to muster the courage to check the result. According to the box, one line meant I wasn’t pregnant. Two lines meant…

“Fuck,” I whispered when I lifted the test to eye level. Two bold lines stared back at me.

What now? I was on my way to another country, about to start a massive project with the company. I couldn’t afford to go on maternity leave. Maternity—God, I wasn’t ready for this.

I’d always wanted to be a mom. It was my biggest dream, but after years of marriage with no pregnancy, I figured it just wasn’t in the cards for me. And now, here I was, in an airport bathroom, staring at a pregnancy test, panicking. I could barely manage my own life—how was I supposed to take care of someone else’s? And what would my parents think? What would they say? Not to mention the baby’s father, who was practically a kid himself. He was a reckless, spoiled teenager who had just thrown my life into chaos with a few love songs. I let out a bitter, involuntary laugh. He was actually the least of my worries, already a closed chapter in my book.

I leaned against the sink, closing my eyes as I muttered the only thing that came to mind:

“For fuck’s sake, Martin!”