Chapter 5

Sandra's pov

“That's impossible!” I spluttered out trying to control myself, “I'm on birth control,” I told the doctor confidently. 

 The doctor looked at me with kind understanding eyes, “I understand Ma'am, but no contraceptive is 100%–”

 I didn't let her finish, instead I slammed the test results on a hard desk, vibrating down to our legs.

“I want a second opinion,” 

 The doctor tried to reassure me that the test was valid, but I wasn't listening. 

No, I didn't want to listen. 

 However, my denial began to crumble after taking three more pregnancy tests in three more hospitals, all of them screaming the same thing at me. 

 After the final test, I walked out of the hospital. The consciousness of a small life growing inside of me overwhelmed everything, but what was more horrifying was that this child could have come from my and my foster brother's DNA.

  Then I remember my ex-husband, the note. We were supposed to meet up but I didn't show up. As much as I hated him right now, a part of my heart still loved him, and I was afraid that if he gave me the right excuse, I'd begin to tolerate his infidelity. 

 Couldn't let myself fall down that pit no matter how much affection I used to have for him.

 I called George. This was the first time we had spoken in days after he showed up in my bedroom with a towel and casually told me that we had a one-night stand. 

 It had been awkward and even looking at him was hard. 

But I told him that I wanted to meet at a nearby coffee shop. He somehow showed up even before me, with a smile and a muffin on his plate. He'd have been here for a while, I thought, as I sat across from him. 

 I slid the test results over to him like they contained top government secrets, and his face moved from curiosity to absolute horror. 

“You can't be pregnant,” He said in a whisper so low I had to strain my ears to pick it up. 

 His response perplexed me, I mean, I knew that I was on birth control, but he wasn't, and assuming that I was married, it would have been more natural for him to believe that I wasn't. 

“Don't worry, I'm not going to ask you to take responsibility or anything. I just thought that you should know,” Actually, I was confused out of my mind and I needed somebody to tell me something that makes sense.

 He was still looking at the test results with unmatched shock, his eyes running through them repeatedly.

  Then suddenly he was calm, he folded the results and slid them back into the white envelope I had handed to him.

 “You know…if you want to do something…the pregnancy is still early,” he said not meeting my eyes, and for some reason my fingers clenched up, of course I never dreamed of having kids for my foster brother but the way he's pushing all the responsibility to me even though I wasn't the one that myself pregnant was really something we did together.

 “I'll schedule an appointment,” I said, the word sliding out of my mouth with an icy sharpness. George either missed it or pretended not to get it.

“I'll be there with you,” 

I shook my head, “Don't worry, I think it will be better if I…if I do this alone,” 

 He didn't argue, just let me have my way. 

 But two more weeks passed by and I still didn't have the heart to make the appointment. The dizziness hit me hard, and then the sight of my favorite foods began to irk me.

 My former foster mother noticed this immediately. Margaret, concerned about my health, mentioned once over breakfast that maybe I should get a checkup.

 The glass of orange juice in my hand almost fell out of my grip.

 “It's fine, Margaret, I'm perfectly fine,” she pestered me a little bit longer for a while and I admitted that I had already gone to a hospital and was doing fine. 

 I didn't want to tell her that I was pregnant with her son.

 As for George, he kept dropping subtle hints because my belly was getting progressively bigger and the symptoms were growing more obvious to be simply dismissed as a bad mood or an upset stomach.

  Before I knew it four more weeks had passed, I blinked again and I was deep in my second trimester.

 Eventually, I signed up for prenatal care, still on the fence on what I was going to do, but when I heard my baby's heartbeat, every other plan other than raising them melted away like ice under the hot sun.

  Yep, babies. I was having triplets, at least that's what the scans said.

 That day I came back and decided to be honest with Margaret, told her I was pregnant but that I didn't know the father. 

“He was just a one-night stand,” I said. George was in the living room with us, giving me a pointed look, and the moment it was the two of us in his room.

 “Why didn't you tell my mom?” 

 “It's not my fault. What was I supposed to say?” 

“That I'm the father?!” He said then quickly lowered his tone when I gave him a sharp look.

 “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have yelled but…are you really going to keep it?” 

 “Yeah, all three of them,” I said.

His face scrunched up, “That's going to be a lot of work,” 

 I tried to shrug off his discouragement, “Anything worth doing is, if it gets too much I'll hire help and–”

 “Will that position be open for men?” He asked seriously.

 I didn't even know where to start asking my questions, what business of his was it if the help was a man?

 His face darkened, and he placed his grip on my shoulders.

 “You won't have to do that…since you can't raise the

Kids alone,” He paused, then met my eyes carefully, “then why don't we get married instead?”