The Surprise

Imogene Scott

For the next few days, I stay in a hotel. I have nowhere to go. My own father had cut ties with me long ago when I went against him and chose to marry Damien.

He has even forbidden any of his family members—my stepmother and Fiona—from contacting me. But I don’t even consider them family to begin with. Not after what Fiona did to me.

My mother is no more; she died of cancer ten years ago, and my father married his deceased driver’s wife, Sasha Nice, a few years later. Talk about being shallow.

It’s as if my life is at a standstill. I’ve stayed in bed for the past few days and haven’t stepped out of the hotel room. My gallery opening is on hold, and I just want to be alone. I just need time alone to think, but I’ve been doing nothing but sleeping my problems away.

Because I can’t summon the resolve to do anything else. As long as I can sleep, I feel numb, and numb is good; numb doesn’t hurt. To top it off, I’ve been down with a slight fever followed by constant nausea and backaches. But the fact that I’ve barely made any bowel movements these past few days can be the cause of it.

The glow of the screen in the dark room wakes me as much as the chirping song. I fumble instinctively for it on the nightstand, and somewhere in my mind, I’m registering the early time on my clock—4 pm—somehow trying to sort through the dream I’m losing.

My fingers wrap around the phone and I hold it close to my face for reading. It’s an unknown number. My dream is gone, and all that is left is the reality of a random number calling me when I haven’t received any calls in days.

Damien hasn’t even reached out to me after I mysteriously disappeared. Even though I hate him right now, one part of me wish he would call, but another part of me knows I will go running back to him if he does.

Am I so insignificant to him that he has completely forgotten about me in a few days? My chest aches and I swallow hard.

“Hello?”

“Imogene, it’s Elinor. I was wondering if you needed anything. I’m about to come see you.”

“Elinor.” I fall back on my pillows and close my eyes. I feel relieved, but I’m too tired to try to sort out why. It’s just that it’s her, so it’s okay. She’s my only friend, and we’ve known each other since our college days. She’s also the only one that knows about my current situation.

“I don’t think I need anything,” I murmur.

“How do you feel now?” Elinor’s voice trailes off at the other end.

I swallow back the nauseating feeling crawling up my lungs. “Not better.”

“Well, I’ll see you in a bit.”

The call ends, and I drop my phone beside me. I curl on my bed into a ball, and fresh tears start streaming down my face again. This time, I’m not sure why, but my heart aches like crazy, and I let out a gut-wrenching cry.

Why the fuck did this have to happen to me?

About forty minutes later, there’s a knock on my door. I wipe my tears, but my face is already swollen. I open the door and let Elinor in. She’s wearing a white boat-neck top and dark brown slacks. Both look fabulous on her slender figure. Her feet are in dark beige walking shoes, and her strawberry blonde hair is in a bun.

She hands a plastic bag to me with a pharmacy label on it. A shiver runs down my spine. Time slows; the air in my lungs thins as I bring out the pregnancy test stick in the bag.

“What do I need this for?” I ask with a laugh to cover a surge of mild are-you-kidding-me annoyance.

“I stopped by the pharmacy and explained your symptoms to the nurse. She thinks you might be pregnant.”

I stare at Elinor, frozen in horror. There’s basically no way I can get pregnant. After a miscarriage five years ago, I was told that my fallopian tubes are blocked. I hadn’t been able to get pregnant since then.

I look down at my belly with horrified shock, then at Elinor, who gives me the go-on look. I walk into the bathroom to take the test. Not that I think it’s going to come back positive, but I just need to eliminate the possibility.

I pee on the stick.

Then wait.

And wait.

I’m pacing, and it’s only because I need the exercise, not because I’m nervous. Because I know I’m not pregnant. No way, no how, not now.

Except…

The stick slowly reveals two lines.

I put a hand over my mouth. My head goes blank—just a barren white space with nothing. I’m sure I’m supposed to feel or think something, but I just can’t. Not when the stick says I’m regnant.

How could I be pregnant with Damien’s child? My knees start to shake. I stumble into the sink and knock a few things off. Something made with glass falls on the floor and shatters. But it’s hard to care when it feels like my life just got upended.

The door bursts open behind me.

“Hey, are you okay?” Elinor says, her eyes wide.

I turn and blink up at her. My life has already shattered into a thousand pieces, and now I find out I’m pregnant?

I want to feel joy, but all I feel is fear. How can I raise a child on my own? What kind of life could I possibly offer this baby when my own life is in ruins?

“I heard something crash.” Elinor’s voice jilts me. She comes over and put a hand on my shoulder. “You’re pregnant?”

I nod numbly.

“Um...yay...? This is good news,” she says.

My breath hitch. Good news? This feels like a cosmic joke. After years of trying, hoping, and praying, it happens now—when I’m alone, abandoned, and heartbroken.

Elinor parks herself next to me on the bathroom floor. “Okay. Are you gonna tell Damien about it?”

“No,” I reply defensively.

He discarded me without a second thought. He no longer cares about me. I doubt he’ll be happy to know about it.

“Are you going to keep it?”

“Probably not…”

Elinor takes my hand in hers, then squeezes them tightly. “You’ve wanted this your whole life, Imogene. This is a second chance for you to rebuild your life, get back on your feet, and stop wallowing in self-pity. It’s Damien’s loss, not yours. Don’t throw this opportunity away.”

I process Elinor’s words through the numbness that has been spreading through my mind. What if this child is the beginning of something new, something better? The idea feels fragile.

I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to start over, but I also know that this baby didn’t ask to be born into this mess.

Gradually, optimism starts to bubble up, pushing away the anxiety. I exhale, then put a hand over my fluttering belly. There’s no way out of this. I’m going to have Damien’s baby. I’m going to start a new life with my unborn child somewhere far away where I can make a life for both of us without the troubles of this world.

I need to be strong. For my little one.