Chapter 6

When My Body Spoke First

Alvara

I stood frozen at the edge of the bed, staring at the stained bedsheets as though they were staring back at me.

Red.

Not bright. Not fresh. But unmistakable.

My hands trembled as I lifted the corner of the sheet, my breath coming in short, uneven bursts. My heart pounded so loudly I was sure it would wake the entire house. I pressed a hand to my chest, then slowly to my lower abdomen.

Nothing.

No cramps.

No sharp pain.

No warning.

Just fear, raw, choking fear.

I checked myself again and again, as though the answer would change if I looked hard enough. My body felt normal, frighteningly so. That scared me more than pain ever could.

What should I do?

Scream?

Pretend this wasn’t happening?

Call someone?

My mind raced, spiraling through every terrible possibility. I thought of Adrian, and the idea vanished almost immediately. No. That would never happen. I knew better than that.

Mrs. Seraphina?

The thought made my stomach twist. No, she was the worst option of all.

My mother flashed through my mind next, her gentle voice, the way she always knew when something was wrong even before I said a word. My throat tightened. I shook my head quickly, forcing the thought away.

I don’t want to worry her.

Not yet.

I made a decision, not because it was the best one, but because it was the only one I could live with at that moment.

I would hide it. For now.

I would go to the hospital later, quietly. Without anyone knowing. I didn’t want Adrian finding out. Not like this. Not before I understood what was happening inside my body.

Moving slowly, I stripped the bed, my hands shaking as I folded the stained sheets and hid them carefully where no one would see them. I cleaned myself in silence, every sound in the bathroom feeling too loud, too dangerous. When I finished, I stood in front of the mirror and barely recognized the pale woman staring back at me.

I looked… fragile.

I had just finished changing the bedsheets when a knock sounded on the door.

My heart leapt violently.

I had completely forgotten someone knocked earlier.

I opened the door to find Mrs. Whitmore standing there with a tray in her hands.

“Good morning, Mrs. Whitmore,” I said quickly, forcing a smile. “I would have come to get breakfast myself. You shouldn’t have bothered.”

“I’m only doing my job,” she replied, her eyes scanning my face, not rudely, but carefully, like she was searching for something.

Her gaze lingered.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yes, I’m fine,” I said too quickly.

She frowned slightly. “You don’t look fine. You look pale… shaken. What is going on?”

Something in her voice, soft, sincere, made my resolve crack. I looked into her eyes and saw genuine concern. Not curiosity. Not judgment.

Concern.

Before I could stop myself, the truth spilled out.

“I’m sick,” I said quietly. “I don’t feel good. I woke up to blood on my bedsheets. But I don’t feel any pain. No cramps.”

My voice broke at the end.

Her expression changed instantly.

“You need to go to the hospital immediately,” she said firmly. “Early pregnancy bleeding can be dangerous.”

She lowered her voice. “Stress can kill a pregnancy.”

Fear wrapped itself tighter around my chest. “I’m scared,” I whispered. “What if something is wrong with my baby?”

“That is exactly why you need to go to the hospital,” she said gently. “I’m sure nothing is wrong, but you must be careful.”

She placed the tray down. “I’ll pack your breakfast for you. You can eat on the way.”

“Thank you,” I murmured, overwhelmed.

As she left, doubt crept in. Had I done the right thing by telling her? Could I really trust her?

I didn’t have a choice.

I would trust her, but not with everything.

After dressing quickly, I called John. He should be here by now.

When I stepped out of the room, Mrs. Whitmore was already waiting, holding a small bag with my breakfast packed neatly inside. I took it and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?”

His voice grated against my nerves.

I turned to see Adrian descending the stairs, his expression unreadable, his tone sharp.

“None of your business,” I replied.

I didn’t wait for his reaction. I opened the door and walked out.

John was waiting outside. He greeted me politely and opened the car door. I slipped inside.

“To the hospital, please,” I said.

“Okay, ma’am,” he replied, starting the engine. “Should I inform Mrs. Seraphina?”

“Of course you can,” I said quietly. “You’re just doing your job. She’s bound to find out anyway.”

He nodded.

As the car moved, I unwrapped the food and ate slowly, staring out the window at the city rushing past. Normally, I wouldn’t have been able to eat in a moment like this. But I felt unbearably hungry, as though I had been starving for days.

Another reminder.

You’re still here, my baby.

I prayed silently, begging that nothing was wrong.

At the hospital, I sat in the emergency waiting room surrounded by other pregnant women. This time, I didn’t feel jealous of them. I felt terrified.

I pressed my hand to my stomach, whispering a prayer only my child could hear.

Please. Hold on.

After the tests and examinations, I sat across from the doctor, my fingers clenched tightly in my lap.

“It was a threatened miscarriage,” she said gently.

My heart skipped violently.

She continued explaining, her voice calm and professional.

“Increased stress hormones can trigger uterine irritability and affect implantation stability in early pregnancy. This can cause vaginal bleeding without loss of the baby.”

She paused. “The baby is still alive. The cervix is closed.”

Relief crashed over me so suddenly I nearly cried.

She went on. “There’s also a small subchorionic hematoma, a blood clot between the uterine wall and the pregnancy sac. That’s often what causes sudden bleeding, especially noticed on bedsheets.”

“The baby is alive,” she emphasized. “But this pregnancy is threatened. You must rest. Avoid stress. No emotional shock. If the bleeding worsens, return immediately.”

Then her expression hardened slightly.

“You need strict bed rest for one month. I don’t know what kind of stress you’re under, but it’s not advisable. Your baby is in danger.”

She picked up the phone. “I’ll call Mrs. Seraphina and inform her.”

“Thank you, doctor,” I whispered, grateful and terrified all at once.

In the hospital restroom, I broke down completely. Tears streamed freely as I clutched my stomach.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

This house might kill my baby if I don’t do something.

For the first time, I truly understood: love is not always enough. Endurance has limits.

When I returned home, Mrs. Seraphina and Adrian were seated in the living room.

“What happened, Alvara?” Mrs. Seraphina asked, feigning concern. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I woke up to blood on the bedsheets,” I replied honestly, sitting down. “I didn’t know what to do.”

“You should have told me first,” she said sharply. “Before going to the hospital. I don’t want the doctor getting the wrong idea. Our reputation matters.”

I understood then.

The baby mattered, but only on their terms.

“You need to take care of yourself,” Adrian said coldly, standing. “Women lose pregnancies every day. Stop acting special.”

My chest tightened painfully, but I said nothing.

“The doctor recommended bed rest,” Mrs. Seraphina continued. “This house is too busy. Your mother’s place will be calmer. What do you think?”

“I think that would be okay,” I said softly. I missed my family desperately.

“John will take you tomorrow,” she decided. “Take good care of yourself.”

That night, I sat on my bed, rubbing my stomach as it grew slightly heavier with each passing day.

“I promise,” I whispered. “I won’t give you this life of misery.”

“We will escape. I will plan quietly. I will gather evidence. We will survive long enough to leave on our own terms.”

“If this house won’t protect you, my child, then I will.”