LISA'S POV

My life had settled into an unexpected calm ever since I arrived in California. There was a peacefulness here, an anonymity that soothed my frayed nerves. No one knew me, no one asked questions, and I was grateful for it. I spent most days working quietly on a business I’d started with the money I had gotten from that night—the night I wanted so desperately to forget. The investment I made had turned out better than I could have hoped, and for the first time in what felt like forever, there was no drama, no heartbreak. Just me, my work, and the slow rhythm of days blending together.

But then, the nausea started.

At first, I thought it was stress or maybe something I ate. But the queasiness became more frequent, then constant. Every morning, like clockwork, I’d wake up feeling sick to my stomach, unable to keep anything down. I dismissed it for weeks, chalking it up to anxiety or the toll of running a business on my own. But when the dizziness started, along with fatigue that left me exhausted even after a full night’s sleep, I knew something was wrong. I couldn’t ignore it anymore.

That’s when I decided to visit the hospital.

I sat nervously in the waiting room, clutching the sides of the chair, my mind racing with a thousand possibilities. Maybe it was some kind of infection, or a stomach bug. Something easy to fix, I hoped. The doctor, a cheerful older man with kind eyes, ran a few tests and told me to wait while they processed the results. It felt like forever before he returned, a smile on his face that immediately made me think everything was fine.

“Congratulations!” he said, beaming as he handed me a small envelope with my results.

I blinked, confused by his cheerful tone. “Congratulations?” I repeated, thinking he must have been mistaken. “For what? I don’t have any infections, right?”

The doctor chuckled softly, still smiling. “No, you don’t have any infections. You’re pregnant.”

I froze.

The words hung in the air between us, so surreal, I couldn’t even process them at first. Pregnant? I stared at him, my brain refusing to make sense of it. It wasn’t possible. How could I be pregnant? I hadn’t even been with anyone, except—

Oh, God.

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. There was only one person I had been with. That stranger in the hotel room. The man I could barely remember, the one I had spent a single, reckless night with after watching Nathan betray me with Bella. The tears came suddenly, uncontrollably, as my hands shook and I fumbled to open the envelope with the test results.

Positive. I was pregnant.

I felt like the world was spinning around me. The doctor’s voice faded into the background as the room seemed to close in. I was carrying the child of a man whose name I didn’t even know, a man I could hardly remember beyond his cold, detached eyes and the heavy envelope of cash he left behind. How had this happened? How had my life spiraled into this nightmare?

Tears streamed down my face as I sat there, numb and overwhelmed. The doctor must have noticed because he gently placed a hand on my shoulder, his voice soft and reassuring. “It’s okay to feel scared. A pregnancy, especially an unexpected one, can be overwhelming. But you have options, and there’s support available.”

I shook my head, not able to find the words. I wasn’t ready to be a mother. I hadn’t planned for this, hadn’t wanted this. But the thought of ending the pregnancy—it felt wrong. I couldn’t bring myself to even consider it, but at the same time, I didn’t know if I could keep the baby either. I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t equipped for this. What kind of mother could I possibly be?

The doctor continued speaking, his words a blur as I stood up, my legs weak beneath me. I thanked him quietly, barely able to meet his eyes, and left the hospital in a daze. The sunlight outside felt harsh, too bright for the heaviness I was feeling inside. I clutched my stomach, the reality sinking in deeper with every step I took.

I was pregnant. With a stranger’s child.

My thoughts were a tangled mess as I made my way back to my apartment. I sat on the couch for hours, staring at the wall, trying to figure out what I was going to do. I couldn’t raise this child on my own. I didn’t even know where to begin. But deep down, I knew I couldn’t abandon it either. This baby was a part of me now, whether I wanted it or not.

In the days that followed, I realized I had to make some hard choices. If I was going to keep this baby, I had to be ready for it. I wasn’t going to let him or her suffer because of my mistakes. I started researching investments and ways to grow the money I had. I couldn’t depend on that one payment from the stranger forever, so I poured myself into work, trying to secure a stable future for myself and my unborn child. Slowly, things started to look up. My business was doing better than I had expected, and the money I invested was growing, but every time I looked at the bank account, I was reminded of how it all started. I hated that feeling.

As the months passed, I forced myself to keep up with my antenatal visits, even though it was hard to fight the exhaustion and the creeping sense of dread that followed me. My belly grew rounder, more obvious with each passing week, and eventually, I couldn’t ignore the reality of what was happening inside me. I was going to be a mother.

At one of my appointments, I decided to find out the baby’s gender. Maybe knowing more about the little life growing inside me would make it feel more real, more manageable. The doctor spread the cold gel across my stomach, and the ultrasound machine hummed softly as he moved the sensor over my belly. The screen flickered to life, and there, clear as day, was the shape of my baby.

“It’s a boy,” the doctor said, smiling as he pointed to the tiny form on the screen. I could see it—the unmistakable image of a small body, the little balls and penis. I was having a son.

Hot tears rolled down my cheeks. I wasn’t sure what I was feeling—fear, joy, sadness, all mixed together in a whirlwind of emotions. A boy. I was going to have a son.

As time went on, I tried to focus on the positives. My business was thriving. The money I had made from my initial investment had grown, and I was able to secure a comfortable life for myself and my baby. But despite the success, there were still dark moments when I felt overwhelmed by everything. Times when the memories of that night, of Nathan, of Bella, would come rushing back, and I’d feel the crushing weight of it all bearing down on me.

But whenever those thoughts threatened to consume me, I’d look at my belly, at the little life inside of me, and somehow, everything felt a little bit better. I hadn’t planned for this, but this baby was mine. He was my fresh start, my chance to rebuild a life that had fallen apart.

Still, the thought of the future haunted me. What would I tell my son when he was older? How would I explain where he came from, why his father wasn’t in the picture? Would I have to tell him the truth, that he was the result of a one-night stand with a stranger I could barely remember? Would I have to admit that I had been heartbroken and desperate, that I had let my pain drive me to make choices I never thought I would?

Or would I lie? Would I tell him I was in love once, but it didn’t work out? Would that be easier for him to hear than the truth—that his mother had been betrayed by the man she thought would marry her, by her own stepsister, and that in her lowest moment, she had turned to a stranger for comfort?

I didn’t know. All I knew was that when the time came, I would find a way to tell him. And maybe, just maybe, by then, I would have forgiven myself for the choices I’d made.

I was deep in thoughts, when I heard a knock on the door.