Concealed

Stephie

The hum of the bathroom's fluorescent light felt almost too loud in the quiet of my apartment. I sat on the edge of the bathtub, my hands shaking as I stared at the white stick on the counter, willing it to be wrong. But I knew better.

It had been weeks of pretending everything was fine—dismissing the nausea, blaming the constant exhaustion on work stress, and ignoring the way my jeans had started feeling tight around the waist. I told myself it was nothing. It had to be nothing. I couldn't even bring myself to entertain the alternative.

But now, sitting here, with a pregnancy test waiting to reveal the truth, I couldn't escape it any longer.

I glanced at the timer on my phone. Two minutes left. I squeezed my eyes shut, my pulse hammering in my ears. The last few months had been a whirlwind—a blur of mistakes, arguments, and too many regrets. First, Austin. Then Spencer. And now this. How had everything spiraled so quickly?

The tears burned behind my eyelids, but I kept them in check. Crying wouldn't change anything. I hadn't even told anyone I was taking the test. No one knew I had been missing periods, that I'd been holding my breath each time I woke up, hoping the sickness would pass. There was no one to turn to, no one who could help me carry the weight of what might happen next.

I couldn't tell Spencer. Not yet. Not with everything between us still so fragile, hanging by a thread after the argument that left us barely speaking. I had accused him of using again, and things had never fully recovered. Now, we barely acknowledged each other, our conversations short and shallow, like we were both afraid to break what was left.

And Austin? I couldn't even think about him without feeling a knot of guilt and shame tighten in my chest. I hadn't spoken to him since that day at the altar, since I walked away from the life we were supposed to build together. There was no doubt it my mind this baby would be Spencer's, it had to be his.

The timer went off, jolting me out of my thoughts. I opened my eyes slowly, my body feeling numb. It was time. My stomach churned as I reached for the test, my fingers trembling so hard I almost dropped it. I couldn't bring myself to look. I stood there, staring at the stick, willing it to be a mistake.

But there they were—two pink lines.

Positive.

I sank down onto the cold tile floor, my legs too weak to hold me up any longer. Pregnant. I was pregnant. A small, fragile life growing inside me, and I was completely, utterly alone.

My hand instinctively went to my stomach, pressing lightly as if I could feel something, anything, that would make this real. But all I felt was emptiness, a hollow ache that spread through me like a storm. This wasn't supposed to happen. Not now. Not like this.

The tears I had been holding back finally broke free, sliding down my cheeks. I hadn't planned for this. I wasn't ready for this. How could I possibly be a mother when my own life was in shambles? When I couldn't even figure out how to fix things with Spencer? When I didn't know if I would ever feel whole again?

I sat there for what felt like hours, my mind running in circles, trying to make sense of what was happening. I didn't even know where to start. I needed to see a doctor. I needed to figure out what came next. But most of all, I needed to figure out how to survive this, how to carry this secret inside me for as long as I could.

I wiped the tears from my face, trying to pull myself together. There was no use falling apart now. I stood up, shaky on my feet, and threw the test into the trash. The sight of it made me nauseous all over again. I couldn't deal with it right now. Not yet.

Walking back into the living room, I glanced around at the empty space. The silence felt oppressive, the weight of it pressing down on me like a heavy blanket. This apartment had never felt so suffocating, so isolated. But who could I call? Who could I possibly turn to with this news?

I sat down on the couch, hugging my knees to my chest, trying to stop the panic from rising again. Maybe I didn't have to tell anyone. Not yet. I could figure things out on my own. I could wait until I knew for sure what to do, how to face this. I wasn't ready to share this burden with Spencer, or anyone else for that matter.

I told myself I could handle it. I had to. There was no one else who could. But deep down, the fear gnawed at me. How long could I hide this? How long before it all came crashing down?

The days blurred together after that. I went to work, pretended everything was fine, smiled when I had to, but the nausea never left. The weight of the secret pressed down on me constantly, a constant reminder of what was growing inside me, of what I couldn't bring myself to tell anyone.

I went to the doctor alone. I heard the heartbeat alone. I stared at the ultrasound, seeing the small flicker of life, and felt more lost than ever. And still, I told no one. Not Spencer, not friends. No one knew. I carried it all inside, hoping I could hold it together long enough to figure out what to do next.

Until the day I couldn't.

It was a normal Tuesday morning, just like any other. I had gotten ready for work, packed my things, and headed out the door. But halfway to the office, the dizziness hit me hard, the world tilting dangerously as I gripped the wall next to me. My vision blurred, and I barely managed to sit down before everything went black.

When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed, the sterile smell of antiseptic filling the air. The first thing I felt was the heaviness in my body, the way my limbs felt weighed down by exhaustion. Then I remembered. The baby. The baby I didn't even want in the first place was my first concern. I'm starting to warm up to this whole thing.

My hand flew to my stomach, fear surging through me as I tried to sit up, but a nurse appeared at my side, gently pushing me back down.

"Take it easy," she said softly. "You're safe, I'll go let him know."

Him?

I passed out in the BAU, of course he's here.My fingers rested lightly on my stomach, the secret I'd been keeping tucked away inside me for two months. I hadn't told Spencer. How could I? After everything, after the way we'd left things—the arguments, the silence... the baby felt like one more thing I wasn't ready to face, let alone share with him.

But I had no choice now.

The door creaked open, and in walked Spencer. He didn't know I was pregnant when I was admitted. I hadn't been conscious to tell him. A doctor must've explained things when he got here because I could see the tension in his face, the confusion and the worry in his eyes, though he masked it well. That was Spencer—always trying to keep it all together, even when everything was falling apart.

He sat down next to me, the corners of his mouth twitching in an effort to smile. I noticed a book in his hands—What to Expect When You're Expecting. My heart clenched at the sight of it. Of course he'd already started reading. That was Spencer. He wasn't just going to be a father; he was going to study it, perfect it, as if parenthood were another puzzle for him to solve.

He glanced up from the book and met my eyes, the tension in his shoulders loosening just slightly as he tried to figure out what to say. His lips parted, hesitated, then finally he spoke.

"You should've told me, Stephie," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

I could hear the hurt behind his words—the weight of what I'd kept from him. His expression was calm, but I knew better. The lines on his face, the slight furrow between his brows, the way he gripped the book a little too tightly—it all screamed at me that he was barely holding it together. I could see the storm brewing behind his eyes, even if he wasn't ready to let it out yet.

I swallowed hard, my mouth dry, my heart pounding in my chest. "I... I didn't know how," I admitted, my voice shaky, brittle. "Everything's been so messed up between us. I didn't want to add to it."

His gaze softened, but it didn't relieve the tension that hung between us. Spencer was always so analytical, so precise in the way he approached things, but this wasn't something he could understand from a textbook. There were no answers he could memorize, no facts that would explain why I hadn't told him.

"I would've helped," he murmured, looking down at the book again. His thumb traced the edge of the cover absentmindedly. "I want to help, I'm 6 weeks sober today."

The sincerity in his voice made my throat tighten. I wanted to believe that. I really did. But how could I expect him to help when I couldn't even help myself?

"You say that now, but..." I trailed off, biting my lip, trying to find the right words. "We've barely spoken, Spencer. Since the fight, since... everything. I didn't even know how you'd react. I didn't know if you'd want this. If we could handle it."

His head snapped up at that, his eyes wide, his face a mixture of shock and something that almost resembled pain. "Of course I would've wanted this, Stephie," he said, his voice suddenly stronger, more certain. "How could you think I wouldn't?"

"I don't know," I whispered, shaking my head. "I didn't know what to think. You were angry. I was angry. Everything felt so broken."

He sat back in the chair, rubbing a hand over his face, frustration simmering just beneath the surface. "It was broken," he admitted quietly. "But this... this is different. This is our child, Stephie. I could've put everything else aside for that."

I looked away, guilt gnawing at me. I wanted to believe him, but the uncertainty still lingered. Could we really have put aside all the things that had torn us apart to raise a baby together? Or would we have just dragged each other down further, bringing an innocent life into the chaos?

"I didn't want to trap you," I said, my voice barely audible, tears stinging at the back of my eyes. "I didn't want to make things worse for either of us."

"You wouldn't have trapped me," he said, his voice soft but firm. "I would've been here, Stephie. I would've been here with you, no matter how complicated things were. I just wish you'd trusted me enough to tell me."

I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of his words press down on me. He was right. I hadn't trusted him—not really. I'd been too afraid of the mess we'd already made to let him in. Too afraid to ask for help.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice breaking. "I should've told you."

Spencer reached over, his hand gently covering mine. His touch was warm, grounding, a reminder that he was still here, despite everything.

"I'm not angry, Stephie," he said quietly. "I'm just... I don't know. I guess I'm just sad that you didn't feel like you could tell me. We've been through so much together. I thought..." He paused, searching for the right words. "I thought we could handle this. Whatever it was."

I squeezed his hand, tears spilling down my cheeks. "I was scared, Spence. I was so scared."

"I know," he said softly, his thumb brushing against my skin. "I'm scared too. But we can be scared together."

For the first time in what felt like forever, I allowed myself to believe that maybe, just maybe, he was right.

Before I could say anything else, the door opened again, and the doctor walked in, holding a clipboard. Her face was serious, too serious.

"Stepheni, I need to talk to you both," she said softly, her eyes flicking between me and Spencer. "We got the results from your latest tests, and I'm so sorry, but... you've had a miscarriage. You've lost the baby."

The words hit me like a freight train. I froze, unable to breathe, unable to move. The silence that followed felt suffocating, thick with a grief I hadn't been prepared for. My hand instinctively went to my stomach, the space that had once held a life. I felt hollow, empty in a way that words couldn't describe.

Spencer was still. His face was pale, his eyes wide with shock, and I could see him processing the information, trying to make sense of it. But there was no logic here, no equation to solve. There was just... loss.

"I'm sorry," the doctor repeated gently, her voice soft but distant, as if it came from somewhere far away. "We'll give you some time alone."

She left the room, and the door clicked shut behind her. The silence that followed was unbearable. I kept waiting for Spencer to say something, but he just sat there, staring at the floor, his hands gripping the edges of the book so tightly I thought the pages might tear.

"I didn't even get to tell you," I whispered, tears stinging my eyes. "I didn't get to tell you before I lost it."

He didn't say anything at first, but then he looked at me, his eyes filled with something I hadn't expected—pain, yes, but also something deeper, something raw.

"I wish you had," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I wish you'd told me sooner."

I nodded, tears streaming down my face. "I'm sorry, Spencer. I didn't know what to do."

He reached out and gently took my hand, his fingers brushing mine. "Neither did I."

"I'm sorry," I whispered through my tears, though I wasn't sure if I was apologizing for the baby, for not telling him, or for everything that had happened between us. Maybe all of it.

We sat there in silence, the weight of what we'd lost pressing down on us, words failing where they were most needed. I didn't know how we'd move forward from this, or if we even could. But for now, we were just two people sitting together in the aftermath of an unspeakable loss, how do you grieve something you barely had?

When Spencer's hand grabs mine it throws me off, I wasn't expecting it.

"It's not your fault." His whispers when I turn my head to look at him.

His words lingered in the still air between us. "It's not your fault." The way he said it, soft but firm, felt like a lifeline I wasn't sure I deserved. My breath hitched, but I couldn't respond. The weight of my guilt—of everything I hadn't said, hadn't done—hung around my neck like a stone.

I wanted to believe him. I wanted to let his words wash away the pain, the blame, the crushing ache that had settled in my chest the moment the doctor delivered the news. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't shake the feeling that, in some way, I was responsible. For the baby. For the distance between us. For everything that had gone wrong.

Spencer's grip on my hand tightened, pulling me back from the spiral of thoughts threatening to drag me under. His thumb brushed against my skin in slow, soothing circles. It was so like him to offer comfort when he was the one who deserved it. He'd lost a child too, and I had kept him in the dark. His words broke something inside me. The tears that had been welling up spilled over, and before I knew it, I was sobbing. Big, ugly tears, the kind you can't hold back even if you want to. All the pain and fear I'd been bottling up for months came rushing out at once, and I couldn't stop it.

Spencer didn't say anything. He just pushed me over and got in bed next to me, pulling me into his arms, holding me close as I cried. His embrace was warm and steady, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I let myself lean into it. I let myself lean into him. I felt his chin rest lightly on top of my head, his breath steady, his heart beating strong beneath my cheek.

It wasn't fair that we were grieving something I hadn't even told him about. But here he was, holding me as if we'd been in this together from the start. The baby was gone, and with it, all the what-ifs and maybes that had hovered in the air between us. But Spencer was still here. And that mattered more than I'd let myself admit.

As my sobs quieted, I pulled back slightly, wiping at my eyes with the back of my hand. My gaze flicked to the book he still held in his other hand. "You've been reading?"

He glanced down at it, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah. I wanted to be ready."

I let out a shaky laugh, though it was more a sob in disguise. "Of course you did."

For a moment, we just sat there, the silence between us no longer as heavy as it had been. It was fragile, but there was hope in it, too. We had lost so much, but maybe, just maybe, we hadn't lost each other.

"We're going to be okay," he whispered, as if saying it out loud would make it true.

And maybe, just maybe, it would.

——————-AN: I fuck with baby trope HEAVILY. but i know most people don't so I won't kill you guys with it. More trauma for our babes!