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☾︎ 𝔸𝔽𝕋𝔼ℝ𝔾𝕃𝕆𝕎 ☽︎

May 9/16, 2019

The silence in the house was thick, as if the air itself had become heavier. From the bathroom, only the soft hum of the exhaust fan and Brooklyn's shallow breathing could be heard. She was sitting on the cold floor, curled up tightly. In her trembling fingers, she held the pregnancy test.

One single line.

Again.

For the third time.

Her body felt like an enemy, like it was refusing to cooperate with the dream they had built together. The hormones, the injections, the diets, the ovulation charts, the doctor appointments-everything... for nothing. Her eyes were locked on the test, as if she could somehow will it to change just by staring at it long enough.

On the other side of the door, Alex sat on the floor with her back against the wood, knees to her chest, arms crossed, head bowed. The film crew, usually a constant but almost invisible presence, now looked uneasy. Lana exchanged a glance with one of the cameramen, sensing that maybe this moment was too intimate even for a documentary.

Finally, there was the dry click of the lock.

The bathroom door opened slowly, and Alex nearly fell back but immediately straightened up when she saw Brooklyn standing in front of her.

"What did it say?" she asked, her voice low, cautious, almost afraid of the answer.

Brooklyn looked at her blankly, her face pale and her eyes glassy. She lifted the test in her hand and let it drop onto the carpet without looking at it.

"It's like the others." her voice was sharp, so sharp it almost hurt.

Alex took a step toward her, instinctively wanting to hug her, to offer comfort. But something in Brooklyn's posture-the tension in her shoulders, the way she avoided eye contact-told her now was not the time.

"We'll try again," Alex said softly, almost pleading.

"No," Brooklyn said firmly, shaking her head and crossing her arms. "I can't, Alex. I can't look at a fourth negative test. I can't keep hoping for something my body seems unable to give."

"But it takes time," Alex tried to reason. "It's a long process..."

"You know what?" Brooklyn raised her voice, taking a step toward her. "You don't get it. You talk like it's so easy. You're not the one whose hormone levels are all over the place, whose body stops feeling like their own. You're not the one who looks in the mirror and hates yourself for not being able to do what you're supposed to do."

Alex took a step back, stung by the intensity of her words, but also feeling a pang of guilt. She knew Brooklyn was right in so many ways. She didn't live it the same way-not in her own body.

"I'm not saying it's easy," she replied, voice trembling. "But I'm here with you. Every day. Every step."

"No. You're close," Brooklyn whispered, her eyes brimming with tears she refused to let fall, "but you're not in it. And that... that makes all the difference. You train, sleep, travel-and yes, you're emotionally present-but I'm the one who gets the shots, who bleeds, who vomits. Who has to stare at that damn line every time."

Silence fell like a heavy blow. Lana and the crew didn't say a word, but the conflict was clear on their faces. This was intimate-maybe too intimate for any documentary. Lana, who had witnessed breakups and revelations through her lens, subtly raised a hand, as if to suggest slowing things down, but Brooklyn was already too far gone.