The CEO Sees Only Me

"How long has this been going on?"

"For about two weeks now," I replied, kneading the back of my neck with my hand, my voice dripping with exhaustion.

Dr. Morty fidgeted with the papers between his hands. He seemed pretty occupied with whatever was glaring back at him.

"It seems you'll have to take extra medications this time."

"Why?"

"You are eight weeks in."

My eyes turned wide-red, for a split second. I didn’t know what to feel. I sprung up from my seat abruptly, startling the doctor.

"Hold on doc, do you mean I’m..."

I poked my belly as if asking him if there was a baby in there. He looked at me in amusement.

"Yes. You are pregnant. There's a baby on the way."

I couldn’t hold it in. I let out a small squeal, clapping my hands once before covering my mouth with both palms.

“A baby,” I whispered to myself.

On the bus home, I kept one hand on my stomach, protective already. At the mall, I bought a pair of impossibly tiny socks and couldn’t stop imagining my fingers wrapping around tiny feet.

I hope Carmel doesn’t feel left out. What if I’m not ready for two? 

I just couldn't wait to tell my husband and son. They’re going to be so happy.

I just know it. Everything’s been falling into place lately, like the universe is finally cutting us some slack.

Ethan got promoted last week as head architect, no less. He worked so hard for it, God knows he deserves it.

And just when I thought things couldn’t get better, Carmel was finally over that awful flu that kept him in bed all week. He’d been up and running like the sunshine itself had healed him. This baby was the final piece. The cherry on top.

I should tell Ethan over dinner. Maybe Carmel can help surprise him.

They’re going to be so happy, I thought. We’re going to be okay. We really are.

I turned the corner to our street, keys already in my hand.

“What in the—” I muttered, stumbling slightly.

I steadied myself and looked down at the tiny slipper lying sideways on the pavement.

“Someone lost a shoe,” I mumbled—then froze.

I crouched, turning it in my hands. The frayed strap. The scuffed toe. I knew this slipper.

“This belongs to Carmel…”

The shopping bag slipped from my fingers.

My stomach turned.

The front door was wide open.

I bolted.

“Ethan! Ethan!” I screamed, my voice cracked at the last call. My breath was coming fast now, my hands trembling.

The front door… why the hell was it open?

"What is it?" he stepped out of the bathroom, wrapping a towel around his waist, his bare feet and wet hair dripping water to the floor.

“Where’s Carmel?”

“What do you mean? Didn’t you leave him outside to play before going out?”

My face twitched. “I thought you were watching him.”

“I just stepped into the shower—”

“He’s a child, Ethan! He was just recovering! You left him alone?!”

“You left the house first!” he fired back. “Don’t put this all on me!”

“Are you fucking serious right now?!

I didn’t wait for his response.

Don’t argue. Not now. Just find him.

“Carmel!” I yelled, pushing past the door. “Carmel!! Baby, where are you?!

I was on the fifth street now and there was still no sign of him.

My husband was behind me now, half-dressed, trying to keep his robe closed, yelling for our son.

“Carmel!” I shouted. “Carmel, this isn’t funny anymore! Come out!”

My voice broke on the last word. I stood in the middle of the street, turning full circle, eyes wild.

“Carmel, baby—please,” my voice now was like a prayer. I paused to catch my ragged breath, bending over and clutching my knees, fully zapped of energy.

Please let this be a mistake. Please God, let him be hiding somewhere.

I stood back straight to continue my marathon. Before I could move an inch, my legs froze. My eyes locked on the small fragile body, motionless, across the pavement in an awkward position.

Ethan came running, catching up to me.

"Have you found him?" he got no reply from me.

His eyes went from my face and down to see what kept me numb.

"Carmel?!!