How the hell had I gotten pregnant?
I sat frozen on the clinic bed, my body stiff, my mind blank. My breath came in shallow gasps as I tried to process the words that had just been spoken to me.
Pregnant.
The word echoed through my head like a siren, blaring and unrelenting.
There had been no symptoms, no signs. We had been careful—so damn careful. And yet, here I was, sitting on this sterile, white-sheeted bed, my hands trembling in my lap, my pulse hammering in my ears.
A lump formed in my throat, thick and suffocating. My left palm met my face in a sharp slap, an act of self-punishment, but also a desperate attempt to wake myself from this nightmare. Tears burned at the corners of my eyes, but I willed them back, swallowing the lump as best as I could.
How could I have gotten pregnant for my own brother?
The shame was unbearable, suffocating. A deep, guttural groan escaped me, and I clenched my fists in frustration. My body felt foreign, tainted, like something no longer belonging to me.
"Helen."
My name was spoken softly, cautiously. The familiarity of the voice sent a shudder down my spine. I stiffened, my breath hitching. I didn't want to look up.
I couldn't.
If I met his gaze, I knew what I would see—disgust, loathing. He already hated me; I had felt it in the distance between us, the silence that stretched longer each day.
Would he loathe me even more now?
I swallowed the bitter taste of bile rising in my throat and stared at the floor, refusing to meet his eyes. My father sat in the chair opposite me, directly in my line of sight.
His presence felt heavy, his gaze heavier.
He cleared his throat, hesitated, then finally spoke. "I am speechless, Helen."
Shame surged through me like a tidal wave. I bowed my head lower, as if the ground could somehow swallow me whole. I couldn't look at him, couldn't bear to see the disappointment on his face.
"I just want you to know that these kinds of things… happen. This isn't your fault."
I froze.
He hadn't spoken to me like this in years—not with this gentleness, this understanding. It caught me off guard, left me vulnerable in a way I hadn't expected.
Slowly, cautiously, I lifted my gaze to him. His face was lined with worry, his lips pressed in a tight, unreadable line. Tears spilled down my cheeks, warm and relentless, but for once, I didn't wipe them away.
If ever there was a day I was done pretending to be strong, it was today.
"I'm really sorry," I whispered, my voice barely above a breath.
"Helen, no..." My father stood abruptly, moving to sit beside me on the bed.
I turned my eyes downward, staring at his shoes instead of his face.
"This isn't your fault. If anyone is to blame... it's me. It's—"
I didn't let him finish. I lunged forward, wrapping my arms around him fiercely, my sobs breaking free in shuddering waves. For a moment, he remained still, uncertain. Then, after what felt like an eternity, his arms came around me, hesitant at first, then firm. He held me as I sobbed against his chest, my body shaking with the weight of emotions I could no longer contain.
We stayed like that for a while, locked in a silence filled only with my hiccuping sobs and his steady, calming breaths.
Then, the door creaked open.
I pulled away from my father quickly, wiping at my tear-streaked face. I turned my head, and there she stood.
Mom.
She looked at us in utter surprise, her lips parted slightly, her eyes wide. Then, slowly, a soft smile curved her lips.
"Never thought I'd see the two of you being sweet towards each other again," she murmured, catching herself before stepping further into the room. She crossed the space in a few short strides, coming to sit on my other side. Now, I was sandwiched between them.
Dad chuckled, a rare sound these days.
I tried not to smile, but something about the moment made it hard to suppress.
Mom placed a gentle arm around me, her warmth immediately soothing. "You are strong, Helen. I admire your resilience. I don't want this to break you."
I didn't respond. Instead, I simply let her words settle into the spaces within me that had long been hollow.
I could not remember the last time my parents had been so tender towards me.
Slowly, I leaned my head against Mom's shoulder. She wrapped her arms around me, cradling me as if I were a child again. The floral scent of her perfume filled my nose, comforting in a way I hadn't expected.
"I'm really sorry," I murmured, my voice thick with emotion.
Mom shushed me gently, her fingers stroking my hair in slow, soothing motions.
Dad stood then, clearing his throat. "I'll go sort out the bill."
I watched him leave, my eyes trailing his retreating form. A strange tightness squeezed at my chest.
"You know," Mom said softly, "he rushed over as soon as he heard. He was so scared for you." She pauses,
" We taught we had lost you too," Mom continues, trying to hold her self from crying.
I could tell as her voice change,
I wanted to believe her.
Maybe I did. Maybe I didn't.
But what I did know was this,
this moment, right here, right now, where I was held, where I was comforted, where for the first time in a long time, I wasn't alone.
I clung harder to my mother.
"The doctor has discharged you," she said after a while. "Let's get you dressed."
She moved to fetch my folded clothes from the chair.
I shifted slightly, wincing at the dull ache in my lower stomach and legs. Slowly, carefully, I reached for my clothing, bracing myself for the pain as I changed.
I see Saint come in with Dad through the door. She takes my schoolbag while Dad supports me as we all walk toward the car.
My legs feel weak, but I focus on putting one foot in front of the other. My body still aches, my stomach heavier than before, as if the weight of the world had settled there.
I glance back at the clinic as Saint pulls through the driveway, taking us home. The place where I had learned the truth. The place I would return to soon.
There were too many questions swirling in my mind, questions I wasn't comfortable asking Mom—
only the doctor who had attended to me.
Leaning my head against the car seat, I try to remember what had happened when I passed out in school. The memory remains blurry, slipping through my grasp no matter how hard I reach for it.
The only thing that keeps resurfacing is the image of Dom pushing through the crowd, clearing the way for me. And Selena—her voice, raw with panic, screaming my name.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to go further back, trying to remember more, but nothing else comes. Just Dom. Just Selena. Just flashes of light and dizziness before everything went dark.
Dad's voice brings me back to reality.
"I spoke to Mrs. Edwina. She said you can stay home until you've fully recovered."
I nod but say nothing. My fingers tighten around the hem of my shirt as I stare out of the window, my mind elsewhere, my body feeling foreign.
I wish I could disappear, dissolve into thin air, become something weightless—something untouched by this reality.
Maybe be with Dan.
I jerk upright immediately. As questions runs through my mind,
Where the hell was Dan?
What happens now?
Do I tell him ... Do I tell him that we just lost our first child together?
The thought makes my breath hitch, my hands trembling as I press them against my lap. Mom's soft palm settles over mine, grounding me.
"Are you okay, Helen?" she asks gently, her eyes searching mine.
I turn to look at her, nodding slowly, forcing a small, unconvincing smile.
"We're home," Mom says softly. "Come, let's get you inside."
Saint pulls the car to a stop. The house looms before me, familiar yet unfamiliar all at once.
I swallow hard and step out, feeling the weight of what's to come settle deep in my chest.