Chapter 12: The Wrong Medicine

Joy sank against the cold tile wall, legs giving out completely, sliding down until she hit the floor.

She pressed her head into her hands, fingers digging into her hair.

How? I took the pill. I know I took it

What kind of cruel joke is this.

"It's fake." Her lips trembled, the words barely more than breath. "It has to be fake."

Cheap drugstore stock. Expired. Counterfeit. Something.

Anything but real.

She wrapped the test in layer after layer of tissue, buried it at the bottom of the trash bin, and tried to push herself up. Her legs wouldn't hold her.

She forced a few deep breaths and pushed the stall door open.

Someone walked in just then, and Joy dropped her eyes on instinct, hurrying to the sink like she'd been caught doing something wrong.

She turned the tap, hands shaking too badly to control the flow.

Scalding water hit her skin and she yanked her hand back the jolt, oddly, was what finally snapped her back into focus.

Don't panic.

She grabbed a paper towel, dried her hands fast, and left.

The second she sat down at her desk, Mrs. Walker leaned over and made her jump.

"Whoa Joy, what's wrong with you? You're white as a sheet."

Joy's pulse spiked. She forced a smile, fingers brushing her own cheek. "Wrong foundation shade, probably."

"What brand does that to your skin? Note to self avoid it," Mrs. Walker rambled on, oblivious.

Joy's mind was too scattered to keep up with small talk. Right now, typing a coherent sentence felt impossible, let alone writing meeting notes.

She took a breath, gathered what courage she had left, and knocked on Nathaniel's door.

Knock. Push it open.

"Mr. Cross"

Before she could ask for the hour off, he looked up sharply from the documents in his lap.

The moment he saw her face, his brows dropped low. He stood and crossed the room fast, voice edged with impatience.

"What happened to you? You look worse than before."

Joy's lashes trembled. She kept her eyes down, unable to meet his.

"I'm sorry, sir I'm not feeling well. Could I take an hour? I'll have today's meeting notes ready by tomorrow morning"

Before she finished, a warm hand landed against her forehead.

The heat of his palm made her flinch like she'd been burned. She stumbled back a full step, her spine hitting the doorframe.

"What are you flinching for?" His hand hung in the air, expression darkening.

She wet her dry lips, stammering. "I already took medicine I just need to rest, I'll be fine when I wake up, nothing's wrong"

"We're going to the hospital." He was already reaching for the phone. "Dr. Lee get someone ready, I'm coming in."

At the word *hospital*, Joy forgot, for one full second, who she was even talking to.

"*No!*"

The shout cracked through the quiet office.

Nathaniel froze, turning back in genuine surprise.

In two years at this company, she had never once raised her voice at him.

Her face had gone bloodless, eyes wide with something close to real fear. She shook her head, voice breaking.

"I'm not going to the hospital — please, I'm not going—"

Something in his chest tightened at the sight of her like that.

He frowned, then hung up the phone.

"Okay. Okay — no hospital." His voice gentled, like he was talking down something skittish. "If you don't want to go, we won't."

Joy nodded faintly, eyes rimmed red.

"I'll drive you home."

"No, that's—"

"Joy." His voice dropped, firmer now. "Hospital, or I take you home myself. Pick one."

She went quiet.

...

In the car, Joy leaned her head against the window, curling in on herself.

She kept her eyes shut, pretending to sleep, afraid to move, afraid even to breathe normally.

Nathaniel followed the GPS out of the city, the smooth pavement giving way to cracked, uneven roads leading into the outskirts.

The view outside grew steadily rougher, louder.

Makeshift stalls lined the roadside — fried food carts, bike repair stands, scrap collectors, all shouting over each other.

Scooters and rickshaws swerved around the car, horns blaring.

Nathaniel's grip on the wheel tightened, his frown deepening with every block.

He glanced at the woman curled in the passenger seat through the mirror, disbelief written across his face.

*She lives out here?*

*This place is a different world entirely.*

"You have arrived at your destination," the GPS announced flatly.

The instant it spoke, Joy's eyes snapped open — clear, alert, nothing about them suggesting she'd been asleep at all.

"Thank you, Mr. Cross."

She had her seatbelt off and her hand on the door before the car had fully stopped, moving like something was chasing her.

Something in Nathaniel's throat tightened, unexpectedly.

He tapped the wheel once. "Take tomorrow off. Rest."

She paused. "Thank you, sir."

Then she was out the door, gone into the dark stairwell without a backward glance.

Nathaniel rolled down the window and lit a cigarette.

Through the curling smoke, he studied the building in front of him — paint peeling off in sheets, the security door eaten through with rust, the whole structure looking like it might give out at any moment.

His jaw tightened. He pulled hard on the cigarette and coughed through the smoke.

Inside, Joy took the stairwell at a run.

Two flights up, whatever had been holding her together gave out completely.

Her legs buckled, and she slid down the rough concrete wall onto the steps.

The stairwell was silent except for her own ragged, shaking breath.

It took a long time, gripping the rusted railing the whole way, before she finally dragged herself up to the sixth floor — moving like she'd aged fifty years in an afternoon.

Key. Door. Shut behind her.

She lunged for the coffee table drawer and yanked it open.

Her hands tore through the contents, objects clattering and knocking together.

Finally — the medicine bag.

Fingers shaking violently, she pulled out the emergency contraceptive packet and stared at the foil.

Everything in her went cold at once.

Every pill still sealed. Untouched.

"...Oh."

The sound that came out of her wasn't quite a laugh — more like something being choked out of her.

Her eyes slid sideways to the other foil sheet in the bag — the fever reducer.

Empty.

Her hand went slack, and then she was laughing, shoulders shaking, chest heaving with it, tears spilling hot down her face and soaking into the worn carpet.

She'd taken the fever medicine that day.

Not the pill.