Chapter 6

Orlena’s POV.

“Little gift?” 

The word parted my lips, 

“I think you're mixing it up somewhere.” I let out a hard smile. The sound came out brittle, like I was crushing a dry leaf under my foot. 

“Was I?”  

“Yeah,” I replied, nodding. At this time, the smile had dissolved into something I couldn't name. “I guess I am an adult enough to know when I am pregnant and when I am not…”

She nodded slowly, a smile plastered across her face that felt like teeth arranged in a pleasing form. 

“You're right, of course, Mrs…”

She paused mid-sentence, waiting for me to fill the silence. But I didn't.

Instead, I wanted to clap back. Where the hell did she come across the word ‘Mrs.’ 

Like, did she see a band attached to my finger? Or Mr Brent had introduced me to her as his wife?

“I think I have to go now,” I let out another difficult smile that didn't reach my face. "I need to check on Eli …" 

My shoes snapped in against like a thunder strike. Each step felt like an escape. I could feel her eyes glued to my back as I escaped from her presence.

I didn't have to look back. I had no business doing that. 

Probably, I should have turned back and warned her that she should take her bloody nose out of my business. 

But I let it slide. Because who knows if it would lead to verbal exchange and attract more people. 

There was a set of people who I didn't want to know that I was pregnant. Brent, his family, and Joan, his lovely wife. 

I returned to the room, and Brent was the only one with Eli. Joan had gone out to get something to eat. 

He looked up when I entered. 

For a moment, neither of us spoke. 

“He said something before he fell asleep,” Brent said quietly. 

“Like what?” I pulled my brow together, turning to him. 

“He said,” Brent paused, like the words were weighty and difficult to push out of his lips. “He said he was scared you would leave, you were always saying it…”

My throat closed up. I blinked several times. 

“He observed more than we think…” I replied softly. 

“Yes,” Brent looked back at Eli from where he sat on the bed. “He told me you were sad because of me.”

The silence stretched thin between us. 

“He’s six for chrissake, Brent,” I quickly cut in, trying to defend myself. “Kids at his age imagine things a lot. I can't bring myself to the terms that you would believe everything he says.”

“Do I?" 

I didn't reply. I didn't know what to say, and I didn't want the conversation to stretch further. 

I spotted an empty chair, seated alone at the end of the room overlooking the window. 

I sat and folded my hands in my lap, pretending to watch the city move on through the glass. 

Maybe this would help reduce the sudden tension. Since I couldn't leave the room without coming across that oncologist who knows more than she should know, and coming here, being faced again by Brent questioning. It's not …

Then he spoke, his voice went silent.

"Orlena,”

“Please don't,” I quietly countered, and anger simmered in me. 

Then silence settled back into the room. 

Good. 

Brent and I, and even silence, settled down in the room with a mixture of the sound of Eli's slow breathing between us, and I thought this was the most honest we had ever been with each other for the past six years.

Then my phone buzzed. The screen lit up. I reached for it, glanced at the screen.  

It was a message from an unknown number. No name, no greeting, just four words and an attached image. 

It reads.

“I know about the baby. 

My stomach dropped. My blood ran cold. My eyes flickered. 

My finger trembled on the screen, but I still forced it hard to slide on my phone screen. 

Then it opened. 

It was a photograph showing me coming out of the hospital when the doctor broke the news about my pregnancy. The clothes I wore. The makeup I put on. 

My heart momentarily stopped functioning. My stomach rumbled, making some kind of sound I couldn't explain. My head was fussy, my vision blurring at the edge. 

I locked my phone, squeezing it tight in between my fingers as it should break in half. 

Then I looked up. 

Brent. 

I never noticed he had been watching for a while from where he sat. 

“You sure, everything is fine.”

I turned towards him and nodded quietly with a strange smile on my face. I couldn't find the right words. 

My palm became sweaty as I rubbed it against the hem of my clothes. Every strand of fibre clung to my fingers, as though I were determined to pull them out piece by piece. 

Someone had been watching me. Who would be watching me? Who else knows about my pregnancy?

Then the door creaked open. 

It was Joan. She walked into the room with two paper cups in her hand. Her smile was soft and perfectly placed. 

She looked at me, letting out a smile that didn't reach her face. A kind of smile someone puts up when they have something against you. Something so dangerous that it mars you. 

For the first time. 

I couldn't trust anyone in the room. 

Joan, the nosy oncologist, and … even Brent.