ログインDr. Valentina. I have handled difficult patients before, emotional ones, angry ones, desperate ones, it all comes with the job.But this?This is different.Because the moment Moraa asks that question“What really happened the day of my insemination, Dr. Valentina?” something inside me stills but not outwardly.Outwardly, I remain exactly what I have trained myself to be over the years: composed, attentive, controlled.But internally?Everything sharpens.Because that question isn’t random.It isn’t curiosity, it's direct and targeted. I study her carefully, my fingers resting lightly against the edge of my desk, my posture straight, my expression neutral.“I'm not sure I understand what you are implying,” I say, keeping my tone even.Measured and professional.She doesn’t blink or soften.If anything, she leans further into it.“Oh, I think you do,” she replies quietly.There is something in her voice now.Not just suspicion.That’s what unsettles me.Because conviction means she b
Moraa. The message comes at the worst possible time or maybe the perfect one depending on how you look at it. I’m lying on the couch, staring at the ceiling, my mind replaying the morning over and over again, Kumba’s voice, his touch, the way he held me like he meant it and yet somehow didn’t.It should have comforted me but it didn’t.Something has been off for a while now. I feel it in the way he looks at me, like he is present, but not really here. Like part of him is somewhere else.Somewhere I can’t reach and I hate that feeling of not knowing.My phone buzzes beside me, I don’t reach for it immediately.I assume it’s him but when I pick it up it's an unknown number.I frown slightly before picking it up, unlocking the screen, and opening the message.“There is something your doctor isn’t telling you about the day of your insemination.” the texts saysI sit up slowly and my heart starts to race. I read the message again wondering if I read or wrong or maybe it's a wrong number
Kumba.One second I’m leaving the cafe, the envelope tight in my grip, my mind running in circles and the next, I’m pulling into my mother’s driveway harder than I should.For a few minutes I just sit in my car in my mother's parking lot holding the envelope.I grab the envelope from the passenger seat and step out, slamming the door shut behind me harder than necessary. My steps are quick, sharp, controlled but just barely.Because something is off and I need answers.If Gesare and Moraa know each other's then there is a possibility she knows about the pregnancy too which is not good for me. I get out of the car and head to the front door, I don't even bother knocking. I push the door open and walk straight in.“Mom.”My voice cuts through the house, firm and unyielding.A few seconds later, she appears from the hallway, her expression shifting from mild curiosity to concern the moment she sees my face.“Kumba?” she says. “What’s wrong?”I don’t answer her, instead, I walk past her
Kumba.It has been a few days since my confrontation with Gesare at the parking lot and yet her words still haunted me.I have always loved being in control, having things go my way, but everything was beyond my control here and it was killing me.This is the only place I always felt in control but somehow I still felt like I was not in control.I stand by the desk, flipping through a set of documents for the meeting I have in less than thirty minutes, my attention split between numbers, projections, and timelines.This is where I belong, not hospital parking lots, here I am always in control, everyone listens to me, they take orders from me.I walk over to the window overlooking the city when my phone vibrates against the desk.I glance at it and see the name Ray and my jaw tightens instantly.I had forgotten to let him know to stop looking into Gesare and her past and I am certain he is cal
Kumba.I wake up to sunlight, and for a second, I don’t move. I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, trying to piece together where I am without actually thinking about it.Then I feel it, a body next to mine, Moraa. Everything from last night comes back in fragments, blurred edges, sharp moments, the taste of whiskey still sitting heavy at the back of my throat.I close my eyes briefly, exhaling through my nose.“Good morning,” her voice comes out, soft, almost careful.I turn my head slightly.She is sitting up in bed, a tray balanced neatly across her lap. Breakfast, Juice, Coffee, the whole picture of something domestic. It's one of the things I always loved about her, she was feminine. I look at her and she is smiling up at me, I push myself up slowly, my body heavier than usual, my head dull but manageable.“Morning,” I mutter.She shifts closer, placing the tray in front of me like it means something.“I thought you might be hungry,” she says. “You didn’t really eat anythi
Kumba.I don’t move for a while long after she is gone. I just stand there in the parking lot, staring at the empty space where she was standing like if I look hard enough, she will somehow come back but she doesn’t.My jaw tightens, my hands curling into fists at my sides.“It’s time for you to move on with your life.”The words replay in my head, over and over again.A bitter laugh almost escapes me as I think of the irony of it all. A homeless girl who had close to nothing was brushing me off, normally I was the one doing the brushing off. I drag a hand down my face, exhaling sharply, trying to steady something inside me that feels like it’s spiraling out of control.This is ridiculous, she is a girl I barely know, someone I was just helping and yet I can't get her off my mind. But my mother was right, I was neglecting my duties trying to play hero to a woman I barely knew, it was time I went bacl to my normal life and focus on more important things. I turn sharply and head bac
Gesare"Can I start the treatment after I have the baby?" I ask her sitting back down, "I only have five more months to go." "You can but the" her phone rings the sharp sound slices through the silence, making me flinch slightly.She glances at the screen and something in her expression shifts sli
Gesare.Her phone rings and at first she tries to ignore it but it rings again. The sharp sound slices through the silence, making me flinch slightly.She glances at the screen and something in her expression shifts, just slightly.“Excuse me,” she says softly still holding the ringing phone. She
GesareThe motel smells like bleach I notice it the second I step inside thanks to the nausea I have been experiencing. It’s not unbearable just persistent. Like it’s soaked into the walls, the curtains, the thin carpet beneath my shoes. The kind of smell that tells you a hundred different stories
KumbaI check the time again, my thumb hovering over my phone screen as I lean back slightly in my chair at the dining table, I am starting to get irritated, I hate waiting.It's seven thirty eight, dinner was supposed to be at seven and she knows it.I glance toward the staircase, half expecting t







