Chapter 5 : “Your baby’s health is just as important as yours, Miss Summers. And I sincerely hope it’s more important than your work.”

“Good morning, Miss Summers,” greeted the doctor with a warm, professional smile. “I’m Dr. Richmond Carlisle. It’s good to finally see you awake this morning.”

His tone was kind, steady — the sort of voice that made people trust him instantly. His dark brown eyes held a quiet reassurance as he glanced toward Ella and gave a polite nod.

“Mrs. Summers,” he acknowledged. “Your sister seems to be recovering well. I didn’t expect to be called back here so soon after finishing another surgery — but I must say, this is the best reason to be.”

Nurse Sonata stepped forward, handing him Clarabelle’s chart. He flipped through the pages briefly, scanning her vitals and surgical notes — familiar information, given he’d been the one to perform the procedure only hours earlier. With a small nod, he handed the file back to the nurse and turned his attention fully to Clarabelle.

“How are you feeling, Miss Summers?” he asked gently.

Clarabelle frowned faintly, her voice still rough with sleep. “A bit dizzy,” she admitted.

Dr. Carlisle nodded. “Any headache?”

“Yes, but very mild.”

Beside him, Nurse Sonata made a neat note on the chart, her expression attentive but composed.

“And your chest?” the doctor continued. “Do you feel any pain when you breathe in or out? Any tightness?”

Clarabelle considered the question, then took a slow, careful breath. “It’s harder to breathe than usual,” she said honestly, “but not painful. Just… heavier, I guess.”

“Very well,” said Dr. Carlisle, stepping closer to her bedside. He reached for his stethoscope and smiled reassuringly. “May I begin the examination?”

“Please,” Clarabelle said, giving him a small nod. Her voice was calm, though her hand instinctively brushed the edge of the blanket, fingers tightening slightly.

With Clarabelle’s permission, Dr. Carlisle began his post-op examination. He moved with smooth precision — the quiet authority of someone who had done this countless times before.

He pressed the stethoscope lightly against her chest and back, asking her to take slow, deep breaths. The air filled with the soft sounds of steady inhaling and exhaling. He then carefully loosened the bandage around her ribs to inspect the incision site. The wound was clean, with no sign of infection or swelling.

He checked the drain outputs, reviewed the monitors, and made a few quick notes while Nurse Sonata stood by, attentive and efficient, recording each observation in Clarabelle’s chart.

When he finally straightened, he gave a small approving nod.

“So far, so good,” he said with an encouraging smile. “I’m very pleased with your progress. However, I must insist that you stay in bed for the next forty-eight hours and avoid moving around too much. We can’t completely rule out the risk of surgical site infections or other complications just yet.”

He glanced briefly at the nurse. “Nurse Sonata will monitor you closely and update me regularly. If there’s any change, I’ll be informed immediately.” Then, turning back to his patient, he added with a faint grin, “That said, I don’t anticipate any issues — you’re recovering remarkably well.”

He tilted his head slightly, his expression softening. “Do you have any questions for me, Miss Summers?”

“Yes,” Clarabelle said instantly.

Dr. Carlisle raised an eyebrow, amused by her promptness.

She looked him dead in the eye, her tone all business. “When can I get out of here? No offense — the room’s lovely and all — but I’ve got a pile of work waiting for me at my desk.”

For a moment, the normally composed surgeon seemed caught off guard. Then, to Ella’s surprise, he let out a startled laugh before quickly clearing his throat and regaining his professionalism.

“That’s the first time anyone’s asked me that only hours after major surgery,” he said, shaking his head.

“That’s all I care about right now.” Clarabelle shrugged one shoulder, completely unfazed. “I need to get back to work as soon as possible.”

She tilted her head, eyes gleaming with confidence as she flashed a smile that could disarm most men with ease. “So, Doctor — when can I leave?”

Dr. Carlisle smiled, though there was a flicker of amusement — and maybe admiration — in his eyes. He cleared his throat lightly. “Once you’re fully recovered, Miss Summers. You’ll need an all-clear from me and from your obstetrician as well.”

The room froze.

“My—what?” Clarabelle said at the exact same time Ella blurted out, “I’m sorry, what?”

They looked at each other, both wide-eyed, the disbelief mirrored perfectly between them.

Dr. Carlisle remained composed, though his tone was measured as he explained, “Your baby’s health is just as important as yours, Miss Summers. And I sincerely hope it’s more important than your work.”

“What are you talking about?” Clarabelle demanded, frowning as she leaned forward slightly. Her gaze darted to the chart in his hands. “You must have the wrong file. I’m Clarabelle Summers — and I’m not pregnant.”

The doctor exchanged a quick glance with Nurse Sonata before looking back down at the papers in his hand. His voice stayed calm, professional.

“I believe I have the correct chart,” he said, flipping to the first page. “Clarabelle Anneliese Summers, born August seventh—”

“Doc,” Clarabelle interrupted sharply, cutting him off before he could finish. “I think I’m gonna need another test to prove this so-called pregnancy.”

Dr. Carlisle gave a small, patient nod. “Very well. Nurse Aimee will assist you with that.”

Clarabelle leaned back against her pillows, crossing her arms — a stubborn glint in her eyes that suggested the doctor might have just met his match. 

Nurse Aimee hesitated only a moment before nodding. “Of course, Doctor.” Her voice was gentle, composed — the calm of someone used to handling difficult situations. She moved toward the tray beside the wall, gathering the necessary items.

Dr. Carlisle gave Clarabelle one last encouraging smile. “Try to relax, Miss Summers. It’s just a quick test, nothing invasive. I’ll be back later this morning to check on the results.”

With that, he left the room, the door closing quietly behind him.

Clarabelle waited until he was gone before turning toward Ella, disbelief written all over her face. “Did I hear that right?” she asked, her tone clipped. “Did that man just say pregnant?”

Ella looked torn between amusement and concern. “That’s what it sounded like.”

Clarabelle scoffed and leaned back against the pillows. “Ridiculous. There must’ve been some sort of mistake — a mixed-up chart or faulty test.”

Nurse Aimee’s quiet voice filled the silence. “The results were conclusive, Miss Summers, but if you’d like, we can confirm it again.”

“Oh, I’d like that very much,” Clarabelle replied sharply, though her voice trembled ever so slightly. “Because there’s no way I’m pregnant.”

Ella reached for her hand. “Clara—”

But Clarabelle shook her head. “No. No way. I would know if I was.”

Her words were confident, but the faint flicker of uncertainty in her eyes betrayed her.

Nurse Aimee approached with quiet professionalism, her expression unreadable. “I’ll need to collect a small sample, Miss Summers. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

Clarabelle waved one hand dismissively. “Do what you have to do. I’ll wait for you to tell me it was all a big mistake.”

Aimee gave a courteous nod and disappeared into the adjoining bathroom.

The moment the door clicked shut, Clarabelle exhaled a long, shaky breath and rubbed her temples. “Honestly, this is absurd. I’m dealing with fractured ribs, stitches, and a punctured lung — now apparently I’m expecting?”

Ella smiled faintly, trying to lighten the mood. “You’ve had worse mornings.”

“Not like this, I haven’t,” Clarabelle muttered. “You think I’d notice something like that, right? A person doesn’t just wake up and find out they’re pregnant by accident!”

“Technically,” Ella said carefully, “that’s exactly how most people find out.”

Clarabelle shot her a glare that could have cut glass, but there was no real malice behind it — only disbelief, and maybe a touch of fear.

Before Ella could speak again, the door opened, and Nurse Aimee returned, holding a small sealed vial and a testing strip.

“The lab will confirm within the hour,” Aimee said softly.

Clarabelle folded her arms and looked away, her jaw tight. “Good. I’ll be waiting to hear that this whole thing was a mix-up.”

Aimee gave a polite smile — the kind only nurses mastered — and left with the sample.

For a while, silence hung between Ella and Clarabelle. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor filled the room like a quiet metronome, marking the seconds as they both sat in their thoughts.

Then Clarabelle finally sighed, staring up at the ceiling. “If this turns out to be true,” she murmured, half to herself, “I’m going to kill the bastard responsible.”

Ella tried not to laugh. “You don’t even know which one that would be, do you?”

Clarabelle tilted her head toward her sister-in-law, a sly, weary smirk ghosting across her lips. “Oh, I know exactly who it would be. I just hoped I’d never have to make that phone call.”