Chapter 4

Watched Not Loved

Alvara

It was a new week.

The kind of week that was supposed to come with hope, beginnings, maybe even joy. Today, I was meant to start my antenatal care, something every pregnant woman looked forward to, something that should have been shared between a husband and wife. A moment where hands were held, reassurances whispered, smiles exchanged.

Instead, I woke up late.

The realization hit me like a slap. I had planned to rise early, to prepare myself calmly, to steady my nerves before stepping into another unfamiliar phase of my life. But exhaustion had pulled me under like a relentless tide, dragging me into a deep, dreamless sleep.

When my eyes flew open, panic seized me instantly.

I was already running behind.

I threw the covers aside and rushed out of bed, my movements clumsy, my body heavier than it used to be. My limbs felt sluggish, uncooperative, like they no longer belonged to me. Halfway to the bathroom, nausea struck with brutal force. My stomach twisted violently, and I barely made it to the toilet before vomiting.

Once.

I gasped for air, my fingers gripping the edge of the sink.

Twice.

My vision blurred, tears pricking my eyes as my throat burned.

By the third time, my knees were shaking so badly that I had to sit on the cold tiled floor, my palms pressed flat against it as bile rose painfully, leaving my body weak and trembling.

When it was finally over, I rinsed my mouth slowly and lifted my head, meeting my reflection in the mirror.

I barely recognized myself.

My face looked pale, drawn. My eyes were tired, older. As though life had already taken too much from me in such a short time. I stared at myself for a long moment, swallowing hard.

I felt dizzy. Nauseous. Weak.

And there was a dull, persistent discomfort in my lower abdomen that made my chest tighten with fear. Instinctively, my hand went there, resting protectively over my stomach.

The past week has been unbearably long.

There were dark moments,dangerous moments,when the thought of running away consumed me. Just leaving the house. Disappearing. Starting over somewhere no one knew my name, where no one looked at me with disdain or suspicion.

But fear always stopped me.

Fear of what people would say. Fear of the whispers that would follow me everywhere. Fear of how my mother would feel.

I had disappointed her enough already. I couldn’t bear to add another wound to her heart.

With a shaky breath, I forced myself to stand and dress quickly, ignoring the tremor in my hands as I buttoned my blouse. I didn’t want to keep the driver waiting. I didn’t want to give anyone another reason to complain about me, to label me difficult or ungrateful.

When I finally stepped outside, the car was already parked in front of the house, sleek, polished, waiting.

Another reminder that nothing here was truly mine.

I paused for a moment, inhaling the morning air. Pregnancy was supposed to be joyful. Shared. Celebrated. It was supposed to bring couples closer, knit families together.

But mine had become a burden I carried alone.

As I walked through the dining area, Adrian was there. Sitting comfortably at the table, scrolling through his phone, calm and unbothered.

He didn’t even look up.

Not once.

Just yesterday, he had accused me of using my pregnancy to seek attention, as though the life growing inside me was some kind of performance meant to trap him.

I had promised myself I wouldn’t care anymore.

But promises were easier to make than to keep.

It still hurts.

“Good morning, ma’am,” the driver greeted when I approached the car.

“Good morning,” I replied softly. “You must be the driver?”

“Yes, ma’am. My name is John. I’ll be your driver,” he said with a polite smile, opening the back door for me.

I slid inside, grateful for the cool air conditioning against my overheated skin. The door closed quietly, sealing me into the backseat as the car pulled away.

After a few moments of silence, John cleared his throat.

“Ma’am,” he began carefully, “Mrs. Seraphina instructed that I report all your movements and requests directly to her. Everything must pass through her. I thought it best to inform you.”

The words landed heavily, sinking deep into my chest.

“Oh… is that so?” I asked quietly, keeping my voice steady.

So it wasn’t her being kind.

It was surveillance.

I turned my face toward the window, watching the city blur past as familiar streets slipped away. My reflection stared back faintly from the glass, and I mourned the version of myself I used to be, the free Alvara. The girl who made her own choices. The woman who didn’t need permission to breathe, to move, to exist.

But I am here now.

And I had no one to blame but myself.

At the hospital, John followed me inside, keeping a respectful distance. I didn’t resent him. He was only doing his job. If anything, he was just another piece in a system designed to keep me watched.

As I sat in the waiting area, my heart clenched painfully.

Women sat beside their husbands. Some leaned into strong arms, their faces relaxed. Others laughed softly, hands intertwined, whispering words meant only for each other.

I sat alone.

Painfully alone.

When it was finally my turn, I sat across from the doctor after the tests and scans.

Her expression was gentle but lined with concern as she adjusted her glasses.

“Mrs. Vale,” she began, “your stress levels are quite high. How are things at home? Is anything troubling you?”

“I’m fine,” I lied smoothly. “Nothing is wrong at home.”

Her eyes lingered on my face, searching for cracks.

“Is my baby okay?” I asked quickly, fear slipping into my voice despite my effort to sound calm.

“For now, yes,” she replied. “But stress is not advisable for your condition. You’ve just entered your fifth week. You need rest, proper nutrition, and emotional support.”

She paused, her gaze steady.

“And regular meals.”

“I understand, doctor,” I said. “I’ll be careful.”

“You’ll get your prescriptions from the pharmacy. Please don’t miss any doses.”

“I won’t.”

I hesitated, then spoke again.

“Doctor… I feel extremely tired. Dizzy. And the nausea is unbearable. Will you prescribe something for that?”

She smiled gently, almost sympathetically.

“No, Mrs. Vale. You’ve entered your second month. What you’re experiencing is normal. The symptoms are often subtle in the first month but become more intense in the second.”

She listed them calmly.

“Morning sickness. Nausea and vomiting. Extreme fatigue. Breast tenderness. Frequent urination. Food cravings or aversions. Dizziness. Headaches. Emotional sensitivity.”

She sighed softly.

“It would have helped if Mr. Vale were here.”

“I’ll tell him,” I said, lying once again.

Inside, fear coiled tightly around my heart, but beneath it, something else stirred.

Resolve.

If my body had to suffer to protect this child, then I would endure it.

After collecting my drugs, I asked John to take me straight home. I had thought about visiting my mother and brother, but the idea of everything being reported stopped me. Today wasn’t the day.

I decided to go buy some food,that has been my routine since that day,is either I cook what I can eat alone or I order, I no longer eat the food Mrs Whitmore cooks.

When I entered the house, Eliora was lounging in the living room, legs crossed comfortably, as though she owned the space.

I tried to pass quietly.

“Where are you coming from?” she demanded, hands planted firmly on her hips.

“Please, I’m not in the mood,” I said, attempting to walk past her.

She blocked my path.

“If you don’t answer me, you won’t eat anything in this house today.”

I smiled, a slow, deliberate smile.

“In my house?” I asked calmly. “I have no intention of eating anything cooked here. I know the plans the three of you have, but they won’t work. I’d rather starve.”

I pushed past her and walked away.

Later, I ate. Took my drugs.

When my headache reduced , I called Mrs. Seraphina and told her everything about Eliora. She listened. She promised to come.

Exhaustion dragged me into sleep.

When I woke hours later, voices drifted through the hallway.

Adrian’s room was opposite mine.

It was Mrs. Seraphina’s voice.

I crept closer, my heart pounding as their words became clearer.

“This wasn’t the plan, Mom,” Adrian snapped.

“Yes, I know,” she replied calmly. “But do you want the world to know the truth? Nine months will pass. You’ll divorce her. Then you can be with the woman you love.”

My breath caught painfully in my chest.

“So warn her,” Adrian said coldly. “Tell her to stay away from us.”

“I’ll call her later,” she replied. “Eliora must leave for now. The media must not find out.”

I stumbled back to my room, my legs heavy, my body numb.

So that was it.

I sank to the floor, my back against the door.

I had been a pawn.

And I had never felt more trapped.