We walk down the dark wooden stairs.
The awaiting parents who must hope that some of the weight has lifted from the situation after having stayed here.
We make our way down and the smell of breakfast greets me.
For a second that's nice, but then It turns my stomach, making me stop.

'What's wrong?'
Two big gentle hands rest on my shoulders.
I rush down the last steps and head to the small bathroom downstairs.
I pull the door open and drop to my knees, hearing the familiar quite heavy footsteps hurry after me.

My hear gets pulled back and out of my face as I throw up.
Clay rubs my back in hopes of soothing a bit of the uncomfortable feeling.

'Everything okay?'
Clays mom sounds concerned as I throw up again.
'Morning sickness.' Clay says as he moves my hair a little more.

'Alright take you time.'

I sigh and lean back against Clay.
'This sucks.'
Clays arms wrap around me and he lays his hand over my stomach. 'This happened before?' He asks. I nod my head, bumping into his shoulder when I move back 'it has, and will for the next nine months.'

A short silence.
'I get it....' he starts, taking one of my hands in his. 'If you don't want to do this. It's selfish of me not to think about what you'll have to go through. I'm sorry.' The apology is soft and honest. I squeeze his hands gently. 'Thank you. But we have some time to think it over.' He hums in response.

We walk up to the breakfast table being set up already, and they wait for up to choose a seat. It feels like some sort of test and is unnecessarily nerve-wrecking. But when Clay moves a chair for me to sit in, and he sits next to me, a sigh of relief leaves his mother's lips. She smiles softly, proud.

'How did you guys sleep?' Clays dad asks.
The rumbling sound of thunder is heard over the music that softly plays in the background.
'I slept well.'
Clay looks as peacefully He did when he was asleep.
No more tension and knitted brows.
'So did I.'