Morning Sickness

(Sofia)

The next morning, I woke up to the sound of someone knocking repeatedly on my bedroom door.

At first, I ignored it.

My body felt heavy, and my eyes refused to open. For a few blissful seconds, I forgot everything that had happened yesterday. I forgot about the hospital. I forgot about the ultrasound. I forgot about the tiny heartbeat that had changed my entire life.

Then reality crashed into me.

I was pregnant.

My stomach immediately rolled.

“Oh God,” I muttered before throwing the blanket aside and rushing toward the bathroom.

I barely made it.

A few minutes later, I was kneeling on the cold tile floor with tears in my eyes and my hair sticking to my face.

“This is getting ridiculous,” I whispered.

The bathroom door opened slightly.

“You alive in there?” Maya asked.

“Barely,” I replied weakly.

She stepped inside holding a bottle of water.

“You’re supposed to be glowing,” she said as she leaned against the sink.

I glared at her.

“If anybody tells me pregnancy is beautiful again, I’m throwing up on them.”

Maya laughed.

“You know, some women would kill for that pregnancy glow.”

“Then they can have it,” I replied. “I’ll happily donate it.”

She shook her head.

“I knew you’d be dramatic about this.”

“Dramatic?” I repeated. “I’ve thrown up seven times in two days.”

“Six.”

“Seven.”

“You counted?”

“Of course I counted.”

Maya rolled her eyes.

“Get cleaned up. We’re going grocery shopping.”

I stared at her.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Maya, I have bills.”

“You also have a baby.”

“I have a fetus.”

She pointed a finger at me.

“Same thing.”

I groaned and rested my head against the wall.

The truth was that she wasn’t wrong.

I couldn’t keep surviving on coffee and leftover fries anymore.

Not when there was another life depending on me.

That thought still terrified me.

An hour later, we were walking through the only grocery store in Millhaven.

The place wasn’t huge.

Half the town seemed to shop there.

The cashier knew almost everyone by name.

It was one of the things I still hadn’t gotten used to.

New York had been crowded and loud and anonymous.

Millhaven was different.

People noticed things.

People remembered things.

People talked.

A lot.

“Get some fruit,” Maya said.

I looked at the price tag and almost cried.

“Fruit is expensive.”

“So is raising a child.”

“I don’t want to discuss that.”

She tossed apples into the cart anyway.

I immediately removed two.

She immediately put them back.

We spent the next twenty minutes arguing like that.

By the time we reached the checkout line, the cart contained far more food than I planned on buying.

“Maya,” I said as I stared at the total on the register.

She didn’t even let me finish.

“No.”

“What do you mean no?”

“I know exactly what you’re about to say.”

“I’m paying for my own groceries.”

She snorted.

“With what money?”

I narrowed my eyes.

“My money.”

“The seventeen dollars in your account?” she replied.

I gasped.

“You checked my balance?”

“You left your banking app open on my couch.”

I buried my face in my hands.

“This friendship is becoming very invasive.”

“It’s because I care,” she said cheerfully.

Before I could argue further, she handed over her card and paid.

I hated accepting help.

I always had.

Ever since my mother died, I had learned to rely on myself.

Depending on people usually ended badly.

But standing there, with my grocery bags and my growing panic about the future, I found myself unexpectedly emotional.

“Thank you,” I said quietly.

Maya smiled.

“You’re welcome.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then she nudged my shoulder.

“Come on. Let’s get you to work before Henderson starts breathing fire.”

That earned a laugh from me.

Because honestly, Henderson breathing fire wasn’t impossible.

The diner was busy when I arrived.

The lunch rush had already started.

Orders were flying into the kitchen.

Coffee was being poured nonstop.

Customers filled nearly every booth.

The second I tied my apron around my waist, Henderson appeared.

“You’re late.”

“Three minutes.”

“Late is late.”

“I’ll work faster.”

“You better.”

I resisted the urge to stick my tongue out at him.

Instead, I grabbed my notepad and got to work.

The first few hours passed without incident.

I took orders.

Delivered food.

Refilled drinks.

Smiled when required.

Pretended I wasn’t exhausted.

Around three in the afternoon, a young woman entered carrying a baby boy on her hip.

The child couldn’t have been older than a year.

He had dark curls and round cheeks.

The kind of cheeks people couldn’t resist pinching.

I seated them near the window.

The little boy immediately grabbed a menu and threw it onto the floor.

His mother sighed.

I laughed.

“Having fun?” I asked.

She smiled.

“He’s entering his chaos era.”

The baby looked up at me.

For a second, he stared.

Then he smiled.

A huge smile.

My chest tightened unexpectedly.

I couldn’t explain it.

Something about that tiny grin hit me harder than it should have.

The woman noticed.

“Do you have kids?” she asked.

The question caught me completely off guard.

My hand instinctively moved toward my stomach before I stopped myself.

“No,” I replied quickly.

Then after a brief pause, I added softly, “Not yet.”

The words felt strange.

Real.

Terrifying.

The woman smiled warmly.

“Best thing that ever happened to me,” she said as she looked at her son.

The little boy immediately tried to eat a napkin.

She sighed.

“Most exhausting thing too.”

I laughed.

For the rest of my shift, I couldn’t stop thinking about that conversation.

Maybe because for the first time, I allowed myself to imagine the future.

Not just the fear.

Not just the panic.

The actual future.

A baby.

My baby.

Tiny hands.

Tiny feet.

Tiny smiles.

The thought scared me.

But somehow it also made me feel protective.

By the time my shift ended, I was exhausted.

My feet ached.

My back hurt.

And all I wanted was sleep.

The apartment was quiet when I got home.

Maya was already asleep.

I changed into pajamas and sat on the edge of my bed.

For a long time, I simply stared at the ultrasound photo.

The image was blurry.

The baby didn’t even look like a baby yet.

Just a tiny shape on a black screen.

Yet I couldn’t stop looking at it.

My fingers traced the edges of the paper.

“I hope you’re worth all this trouble,” I whispered.

A small laugh escaped me.

Then my eyes filled with tears.

Because despite everything, despite the fear and uncertainty and impossible situation, I already loved this child.

Maybe that made me stupid.

Maybe it made me reckless.

I didn’t know.

All I knew was that the idea of losing this baby suddenly hurt more than the thought of raising one alone.

I carefully placed the ultrasound on the nightstand.

Then my phone rang.

The sound startled me.

Nobody ever called me.

Not anymore.

My father was gone.

Most of my old friends had disappeared after I left New York.

The screen displayed an unknown number.

I frowned.

For several seconds, I simply stared at it.

Then I answered.

“Hello?”

Silence greeted me.

“Hello?” I repeated.

Nothing.

I was about to hang up when a man’s voice finally spoke.

“Is this Sofia Rossi?” he asked.

His voice was calm.

Deep.

Completely unfamiliar.

My stomach tightened instantly.

“Yes,” I replied.

The line went dead.

Just like that.

No explanation.

No goodbye.

No reason for the call.

I slowly lowered the phone from my ear and stared at the screen.

Call ended.

A strange chill crawled down my spine.

Maybe it was nothing.

Maybe it was a wrong number.

Maybe I was simply paranoid after everything that had happened.

But as I sat there in the dark apartment, staring at the silent phone in my hand, I couldn’t shake the feeling that whoever had called me already knew exactly who I was.

And for the first time since arriving in Millhaven, I wondered if moving away from New York had truly left my problems behind.