Pregnant Fiction Stories Novels & Stories

A pregnant woman’s temper was unpredictable, and her personality kept changing during her pregnancy. Just when Tony’s kiss was about to land on her again, she held up her hand and blocked it. “I can’t sleep if you keep doing this.” What’s with him and his kisses today? she thought helplessly. My skin may start to peel if he keeps this up! “Okay, okay. Bedtime story it is then,” he replied. Then, he rubbed his nose against hers and pecked her eyelids gently. “Tell me the story,” she said, looking forward to his storytelling skills. As she wondered what sort of story he might come up with, she had a bad premonition about it at the same time.

Pregnant. Patricia. Pregnant. And Vivienne? And as for Vivienne? Her pregnancy was still just a whisper in the halls—a tantalizing rumor, passed from one perfectly manicured mouth to another, growing richer with every retelling. Nothing confirmed. Nothing denied. Just a flicker of possibility wrapped in silk and secrecy.

Chapter 90: Tangled Lies SARAH’S POV The fluorescent light in my apartment flickered, casting shadows across the peeling wallpaper, the air thick with the stale scent of coffee and despair. I paced the hardwood, my bare feet slapping, my pregnant belly straining against my tank top, my heart pounding with frustration. A week had passed since I’d spun my lies to the Caldwell’s, painting their foster son as the villain abandoning me and my baby, their eyes wide, their promises to rein him in ringing in my ears.

It was actually my idea to go for that prenatal checkup. Compared to other women six months along, my belly was far too big—almost the size of someone carrying twins. I looked it up online. A baby that grew too large could make delivery dangerous for both mother and child. That was why I suggested another hospital visit, just to be safe. I never expected that this marriage, or James' six years of persistence in chasing me, was nothing but a complete lie. I was never his wife. I was just the substitute carrying the child he wanted for himself and Natasha.

A wave of sadness crashed over me, and it was so powerful that my legs crumbled and I slid to the floor, with tears streaming down my face. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to be pregnant now. I’m only eighteen, and I’m still just a common wolfless Omega maid that the whole pack loved to abuse and humiliate. I’ve been bullied and beaten my whole life for not having a wolf, and now…now this? Pregnant without a mate, money or husband, I was doomed. I hugged my knees to my chest and started sobbing uncontrollably. How could I bring a child into this kind of life? A life where they would be ridiculed, abused, and treated like dirt for being born to someone like me?

I asked him. He glanced at me a second time, I could sense the fear in his eyes. He started to speak very carefully: "We ran several tests. "For what? Food poisoning?" "No." He said, shaking his head. "Then what?" He hesitated. “You are pregnant.”

She whispered, a smile across her lips as she sat into the bed. “Look.” “I’ve seen this before, the reaction to a pregnancy news when everything just floods back to you, your past, your future, dreams and goals and ambitions. Being a mother isn’t easy and i assume the man that came by earlier was the father” The doctor said and Patricia raised her moist eyes to her. “Yes” She muttered softly.

The pregnancy surely had made my memory great. "Oh you know there is a whole big ass story behind it. One day I forgot to ask this question from my dear beautiful mate and she wouldn't talk to me. Suddenly after some time, she started crying, I was so damn worried and when I asked her what's the problem. Do you know what she said? She is hungry and I didn't ask for food that is why she didn't tell me that she wanted to eat. Godness knows just how dangerous and confusing pregnant women are." Xavier laughed as both me and Sophia glared at the males who were fast to shut up.

Her five-months-so-pregnant belly bulged over the edge of the desk, folded in like the baby inside, turned over, and suspended in mid-air for the moment. And she wrote. Her fists curled forward unwittingly as she flipped the keyboard open. Sentences flowed out of her — unfenced, raw, uncensored. She wrote of a woman who loved an ice man. A woman who gave him her laughter, loyalty, and womb. And he paid her off with gold necklaces for it. She never used his name. She was never argumentative or chatty. But her readers never knew the truth. They knew she wrote about them. Others of them had written back to her one. "This isn't a story," she'd written. "It's a meditation. I was her once. You mad

I called, "Is there anything you want to do? Or do you have any cravings, we can make a stop for you before heading back to the house," "Damien we were supposed to head back to the house and have a talk about how and why you are suddenly so nice to me, why are you trying to peer away from that now?" Kristen retorted, "I am not doing that." I defended myself, "I don't know how to take care of pregnant women but I do know that pregnant women have unusual cravings, I just thought that maybe you might also 2ant something else, sorry…" "You said you don't know how to take care of pregnant women, maybe if you had taken a look twice at the ones that Lost their children through miscarriage, you woul