After her call with Aba, Mansa felt both lighter and more nervous than ever. She had proof now, but she knew her next step would be the hardest—telling John.
She sat on the couch, fingers still trembling, staring at the ceiling. Her mind raced with the possibilities: John's face, his words, the way he might hug her, or, knowing him, how he might faint like a character in a drama.
"Okay," she whispered to herself, "stay calm. Professional calm. Lawyer calm. Not hysterical fan of a soap opera calm."
Her phone buzzed again. It was a message from her sister, Araba, asking about the day. Mansa ignored it. This was her moment.
Then she stood and began pacing, the familiar rhythm helping her think. "Evidence confirmed. Check. Emotional readiness. In progress. Dramatic effect. Pending."
She laughed at herself, the sound echoing slightly in the empty apartment. "Five years of waiting for this moment," she muttered. "And now I get to torture John just a little first."
She considered how to approach it. Should she drop the bomb directly or give him a playful hint first? The playful hint option won, of course. She smirked, imagining his reaction. Wide eyes, jaw dropping, hands flailing. Perfect.
Mansa hid the pregnancy test in her handbag. "This," she said aloud, "is my secret weapon."
She practiced her lines while moving from the living room to the bedroom. "John… we need to talk. Shocking news. No fainting. No shouting. Okay?"
Her reflection in the mirror seemed to nod in agreement. "Perfect. Just a touch dramatic, keep him on edge, then release the truth."
Meanwhile, the city outside continued its hum of life. Horns, distant laughter, the smell of cooking drifting up from kitchens below. Normal. Steady. Calm. A stark contrast to the storm of emotions brewing inside her apartment.
Mansa checked her phone one more time. Positive. Still positive. She pinched herself. Yes, it was real.
"Confirmation achieved," she whispered. "Step one complete. Now, the next phase: delivery to the unsuspecting recipient."
She imagined John's face again, his forehead wrinkled in concern before relief and joy flooded in. That mental image made her giggle.
"You have five years to perfect your acting skills," she said to herself. "Use them now."
With a deep breath, she made herself a cup of tea, the simple act grounding her as she mentally rehearsed the upcoming scene. She thought about the conversation with Aba, the careful words, the calm voice, the laughter—they had all prepared her for this exact moment.
Her fingers drummed nervously on the kitchen counter. Then she whispered, "This is it. This is the moment everything changes."
Mansa glanced at the clock. John would be home soon. She placed the tea on the table, took one last deep breath, and sat down, her handbag containing the small test hidden neatly beside her. The stage was set, the script rehearsed in her mind, and the suspense was delicious.
The apartment, filled with evening light and the distant hum of the city, seemed to hold its breath along with her.
Five years of waiting, and now, confirmation had come.
The next chapter in their lives was about to begin.