Chapter 4 - For the First Time in My Life, I Prayed to Have Typhoid!

  

SOPHIA'SPOV

Today has been really busy for me. Customers kept coming and going, and I barely had time to catch my breath. At one point, I had to quickly mix the dough just in case I needed to make more. All I kept hearing was, "Can I have that?" "Oh! This looks nice, can I have two of them?" "Oh! My husband loved the doughnuts from last time; I think I want to place an order."

It was one voice after another, a chorus of demands that made my heart race with excitement. I was glad things were moving fine for me. I was starting to get my life back to normal. At least now, I could afford some things for myself without having to disturb Dr. Grace about my needs. The freedom felt refreshing. I was also glad I could do something for myself, and I had Dr. Grace to thank for all this. Speaking of Dr. Grace, we had missed two sessions. Though she was done with the conference, she had something important to take care of. I couldn’t wait to see her again to tell her about the progress of my bakery.

"Can I have two of those?" a middle-aged woman spoke as she pointed to the pillow doughnuts lying in my display case. The doughnuts were round and looked sumptuous, their golden-brown color enticing customers to take a bite. I quickly picked two of them up and placed them in a box.

"Mummy, cake," the two-year-old beside the woman spoke up, her little finger pointing at the colorful cakes in the display.

The woman smiled down at her. "Okay, baby. Add the cake too, miss," she said to me again.

"Alright, ma'am," I replied, trying to keep my tone upbeat despite my growing fatigue. I hurriedly grabbed a slice of cake and carefully placed it in the box. The microwave beeped, signaling that the doughnuts were ready. I removed them, packaged them, and handed everything over to the woman. She smiled brightly, passing the treats to her daughter.

"Thank you, miss," she said with a broad smile, which I reciprocated.

"Thank you for your patronage, ma'am. Bye, kid!" I said, and the little girl waved at me with delight.

"Bye, miss!" she called in a cute voice that made my heart melt. I smiled at her cuteness, feeling a warm glow inside.

My business was doing well, and I was so glad. It was usually very busy, sometimes overwhelming. If my bakery continues at this pace, I might need an assistant to help me manage the rush. The thought of expanding filled me with hope and excitement.

It was a long day, and as the sun began to set, casting a golden hue over everything, I decided it was time to wrap up. I wiped down the surfaces and cleared the tables, humming to a tune that echoed the joy I felt in my heart.

Suddenly, a wave of nausea washed over me. I had been feeling it for hours, but this time it hit hard, and I dropped the towel, running out to the back of the bakery to ease myself. My head spun, and I could feel a slight fever creeping up on me. I knew I needed to go for a test later; something wasn't right.

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A Few Minutes Later….

I walked into the clinic and stopped at the receptionist’s desk, the sterile smell of antiseptic filling the air. It irritated me as I waited for her to finish speaking to someone. This was why I disliked hospitals and clinics. The wait felt interminable, and a wave of dizziness washed over me, so I went over to sit on the bench in a corner, clutching my stomach. I closed my eyes, trying to steady my breathing.

After about ten minutes of waiting, the receptionist finally called me. "Hello, ma'am. Sorry for keeping you waiting. How may we help you?"

"I would like to see the doctor, please," I said, forcing a smile despite my unease.

"Oh! He just stepped out. Hold on for a few minutes; he’ll be back in no time," she said, continuing to type on her computer, oblivious to my discomfort.

After another 15 minutes of anxious waiting, I was told that the doctor was back.

"You can see him now, ma'am. He's waiting for you," she said, and I nodded, my heart racing as I walked into the doctor's office. Just as I expected, it was filled with all kinds of books and medical supplies. Calendars of the heart and other related images that I couldn't decipher were hung on the wall, the sight both familiar and intimidating.

"Please, sit," he said, gesturing to the chair across from him. "So, what's the issue?" he asked in a deep, professional voice. I explained everything I had been feeling for the past few days to him, leaving out no detail.

"When was the last time you had your monthly flow?" he asked, and I wondered why he brought up that question. I was about to ask him the reason for it when he spoke again.

"We'll carry out a pregnancy test on you and a typhoid test as well, just to be sure what's wrong, okay?" he said calmly.

"Why a pregnancy test, Doctor?" I asked, my heart sinking as the reality of his words settled in.

"Because you're showing signs of early pregnancy," he said, and I gasped, my mind racing.

"That's not possible," I said, almost in a whisper, panic bubbling up inside me.

"Don't worry, my dear. You'll be fine. We'll find out what's actually wrong once the test results are out," he said, and I fell silent, the weight of his words pressing down on me.

"So, shall we begin?" he asked, and with that, he got up from his chair and retrieved a new syringe from a pack. A few minutes later, my blood sample was taken, the prick of the needle, was sharp but bearable. Afterward, I was told to wait at the reception for the results.

For the first time in my life, I prayed to have typhoid. I couldn't afford to be pregnant right now. It’s got to be typhoid. Yes, I thought desperately, clinging to that notion. I refused to think about my monthly flow or anything that would suggest I might be pregnant.

After waiting for almost thirty minutes, I was called into the doctor's office once more.

"You're pregnant, Miss Sophia," the doctor said without hesitation, his voice steady but my world started to crumble.

"What?" I exclaimed, disbelief flooding through me.

"You're two months pregnant," he repeated, looking at me with concern.

"Excuse me! That's not possible," I said, a bit louder now, my heart racing as fear gripped me. He passed the test results to me, and my eyes popped open wide. It showed that I was indeed two months pregnant.

This is not possible, I thought, shaking my head vehemently.

No. How can this be?

What do I do now?

Nathan and I only did it twice—once on the day he marked me and again the day before the incident. Is that enough to get me pregnant?

What am I even saying? How do I raise a child right now?

I'm not ready for this. With tears streaming down my cheeks and millions of questions flooding my mind, I dashed out of the doctor's office and hurried home, my heart pounding in my chest.

Nathan has successfully ruined my life!