03~Pregnant!!??

[Emily]

When I came to, I was lying in a hospital bed with an IV in my arm. The fluorescent lights made everything too bright, too clean. A woman in scrubs appeared beside me, smiling gently.

“How are you feeling, Ms Matthew?”

How did she know my name, and where the hell am I?

“Like I lost a fight with gravity,” I muttered instead.

She chuckled. “You fainted before you could go for your interview. Luckily, a staff member brought you here to the company infirmary. You were extremely dehydrated, but you’re alright now.”

My cheeks burned in embarrassment. “Great. That’s just what I needed to make a good first impression, passing out like that.”

The nurse glanced at the chart in her hands, her smile widening just a little. “There’s something else you should know.”

I asked. “Something else?”

“So, we had to run some tests on you just to be sure about medications to give you, and you’re pregnant, Ms Matthews.”

Her words hung in the air like smoke. I blinked at her, waiting for her laugh to say she’d gotten the wrong chart, but she didn’t. This is a joke, right?

“No, I can’t be pregnant. You’ve got this wrong—”

“The tests don’t lie, Ms Matthews, you’re almost two weeks pregnant”

No, no, am I dreaming?

“No, this I can’t be. I haven’t been—” Ohh.

And then it hit me. That night with the stranger whose name I didn’t even know.

I pressed my hand to my stomach, my pulse racing. “Oh, God.”

“I know it’s a lot to process,” the nurse said softly. “We can schedule a follow-up appointment at our affiliated hospital if you’d like”

I nodded numbly, my thoughts spinning. Me, pregnant? I didn’t even want kids. And I didn’t even know who the father was. I barely remembered his face, just the faint glint in his eyes. That’s what stuck with me. Those eyes, a deep, piercing blue

God, I’m fucked up. Please wake me up from this nightmare.

I don’t even remember how I made it out of the room. I sat on the couch outside, just staring at the floor, my mind refusing to accept reality. I wanted to scream, to cry, to rewind time and slap drunk Emily across the face. But none of that would change anything.

Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t hate children. It had never crossed my mind that I’d become a mother, especially not this way.

Five minutes later, I convinced myself that I couldn’t allow myself to just fall apart. I needed a job. If not for me, then for the tiny life inside me I hadn’t even wrapped my head around yet.

I don’t know how long I’d been out, but there was a tiny sliver of hope that I could still do my interview.

The infirmary had been on the second floor, so I took the elevator back to the 8th. The place was now empty.

The woman from earlier, whom I assume is the secretary, looks up in surprise as I walk in.

“Ms Matthews? Are you feeling alright now?”

“I’m fine,” I lie. “I was hoping I could still do my interview today.”

Her expression softened. “ I’m really sorry, but the interviews have already finished for today. The positions have already been filled.”

It felt like a punch to the gut. “Oh.” I tried to smile, but my throat tightened. “Right. Of course.”

I turned toward the elevator, not trusting myself to speak again. The tears started before I even pressed the button to the ground floor. Quiet ones at first, then full-on ugly crying by the time the doors slid shut.

Why me? All that effort, all the hope I’d had. All gone, just like that. Why?

I leaned against the elevator wall, pressing my hand to my chest. “Get it together, Emily,” I whispered, half-sobbing. “You’re strong. You can’t cry forever.” My voice cracked on the last sentence, and the tears started again.

Suddenly, the elevator stopped on the next floor. I quickly wiped my face with my sleeves. I know, unhygienic, but who cares? I didn’t want anyone to see my ugly crying face.

The doors slid open, and a man stepped in.

He was tall, probably six feet three or more, in a sharp suit and polished shoes. He looked like the kind of man who belonged in a place like this. I looked straight ahead, refusing to look at his face to even know what he looked like. He didn’t glance at me at first; he just stood on the other side of the small space, pressed the button to the third floor and pulled out his phone.

Shockingly, my tears wouldn’t stop, and I was too self-aware to brush them off with my sleeve, especially with someone else present. What would he think of me?

I turned my face away, embarrassed. Great, just what I needed: for a stranger to witness my meltdown.

Then I heard the faint rustle of fabric. I felt something poke my arm. I turned slightly, and he was holding something out to me— a neatly folded white handkerchief.

“Be strong,” he said simply. His voice was calm, low and confident. The kind of voice that made you listen.

I took the handkerchief and finally looked up at him, and my breath caught. Not because of his handsome face and striking features, but because of his eyes; those eyes were the same piercing shade of blue that haunted my dreams. The same blue I’d seen two weeks ago.

For a second, the world stopped moving. He stared straight ahead, and I stared at him.

It couldn’t be him. Could it? There was no recognition on his face.

Before I could say anything, before I could even breathe, the elevator chimed. The doors opened, and he stepped out. He didn’t glance back. No name. No explanation. Just gone.

I stared after him, clutching the handkerchief in my hand like it was some kind of clue in a mystery I hadn’t meant to start. It smelled familiar, but from where?

My mind raced. Was it really him? The father of my unborn baby? Or was my brain just playing tricks on me because I wanted answers so badly?

The elevator’s doors began to close, and for one wild second, I considered running after him. Asking his name, demanding to know if he remembered me, too.

But I didn’t move. I just stood there, heart pounding, as the doors slid shut again.