Chapter 4

I spent the rest of that day in the airport waiting area, sitting on a hard plastic chair while holding my stomach which still ached. Several security officers came to ask if I needed medical help, but I refused.

The plane took off at 2 PM. I sat in a window seat, watching the city of London grow smaller from above.

The journey was very long, over a dozen hours. I changed planes twice, sat in cold waiting rooms, and tried to sleep on uncomfortable chairs. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Damian's face when he shoved me.

Finally, after an exhausting journey, I arrived at the airport in my home country. The warm air was so different from London's cold. I stood in the arrival area with my suitcase in one hand and my large belly on the other side, watching people being picked up by their families with happy smiles.

I called a taxi and gave my uncle's address. My uncle was my only remaining family after my parents died in an accident three years ago. He was my mother's younger brother, a middle-aged man who worked as a teacher with a simple life. I hoped he would accept me, but I was wrong.

"Who are you bringing home, Alissa?!" my uncle shouted when he saw my growing belly. "You went to the UK with a scholarship, you were supposed to focus on studying and becoming a doctor! But you come back carrying shame like this?!"

"I'm sorry. Everything happened beyond my control," I said.

"Beyond your control?! You're pregnant! You destroyed your future! You destroyed your family's hopes! And now you come to my house carrying that child?"

"I have nowhere else to go," I said, tears starting to fall.

"Get out!" my uncle shouted, pointing at the door. "I will not accept this shame in my house! Leave and never come back!"

My uncle, my only family, had kicked me out. I was completely alone.

I walked aimlessly through the scorching city streets, my hand holding my belly which kept moving. My baby seemed to know that his mother was in trouble. I didn't know where to go.

"Alissa? Is that you?"

I turned around. A young man with messy black hair and round glasses was staring at me with a surprised expression. He was standing in front of a small bookstore, holding a stack of books in his hands.

"Nicholas?"

I could hardly believe it. Nicholas was my best friend since middle school. He was the one who always supported me when I decided to take the scholarship to the UK. But I never imagined I would run into him in this state.

"Oh my God, Alissa!" Nicholas put his books down and ran over. His eyes stared at my large belly, then at my tired and messy face. "What happened to you? Are you pregnant?"

I couldn't hold back my tears anymore. I sobbed in front of Nicholas, telling him everything that happened, about Damian, about the marriage, about the divorce, about my uncle kicking me out.

"You're going to stay with me. I have a small apartment near campus. It's not fancy, but it's enough for the two of us and for your baby."

"I have nothing to repay your kindness with," I said.

"You don't need to repay anything. I'm doing this because you're my friend."

Nicholas took me to his apartment, a small place on the third floor of an old building near the university.

"I'll sleep on the sofa, you can use the bedroom. It's more comfortable for a pregnant woman."

"I can't take your bed," I said.

"I've already decided. Now rest. You must be so tired after that long journey."

I looked at Nicholas, the man who had always been there for me since middle school. Not once did he ask me to be his girlfriend, not once did he show any romantic interest. But now, when I was pregnant and abandoned by another man, he was still here. He was still here, offering help without expecting anything in return.

"Thank you," I said softly.

He smiled, "Rest. We'll talk tomorrow."

**

Three months later, I gave birth to a baby boy with beautiful blue eyes. Every time I looked at his blue eyes, I couldn't help but remember Damian.

Nicholas was always there every step of the way—accompanying me to the hospital, helping me when I woke up in the middle of the night because of Louis's crying, bathing my baby, and even making me warm tea when I was exhausted from breastfeeding.

"You're going to be a great father one day," I told him one night.

"Maybe, but for now, I'm happy being Louis's uncle."

Louis grew quickly. His blue eyes grew brighter like Damian's, but I didn't let that bother me. I learned to love Louis completely without thinking about his father.

A year after I gave birth, Nicholas helped me re-enroll in university. His family, who owned a clinic, agreed to fund my education. They never asked about where Louis's father was and never judged me.

I majored in medicine, just like my old dream. I studied in the mornings, took care of Louis in the afternoons, and studied again at night after he fell asleep. Nicholas was always there, helping me with my coursework, accompanying me to the library, and sometimes taking Louis out so I could focus on studying. And through all of that, Nicholas kept asking me to marry him, but I kept refusing him.

The years passed. I finished medical school with cum laude honors, impressing all my professors and even getting an offer to continue my residency in plastic surgery at the best hospital in the country.

Nicholas and his family always supported me, watching Louis when I had to study all night or when I was in the operating room for hours.

Louis grew into a smart and curious child. His deep blue eyes became more prominent as he entered his teenage years.

He had Damian's smile, a smile that served as a reminder of betrayal and pain.

Meanwhile, Nicholas became the best uncle to Louis, teaching him how to play soccer, helping him with homework, and always being there when Louis needed a father figure. Yet, even though Nicholas proposed to me many times, I always refused him.

But that day, when Louis was nine years old, everything changed.

I had just come home from the hospital after an eight-hour long surgery. My body was exhausted, but I smiled when I saw Louis sitting at the kitchen table.

"Mom, I finished all my homework! Nicholas helped me!"

"So smart, my son," I said while kissing his forehead.

"Mom, who's my father?"

I fell silent. For nine years, I had managed to avoid this question. Louis had never asked. Maybe because he had Nicholas, or maybe because he was too young to understand. But now, at nine years old, he was asking.

"Your father..." I paused, trying to find the right words. "Your father is a man from the UK. His name is Damian, but he's not here."

"Why isn't he here? Doesn't he want to meet me?" Louis asked.

I hugged Louis tightly, trying to hold back the tears that were starting to fall.

How could I explain to a nine-year-old that his father was a coward who left him for money and another woman?