Chapter 4 The Unexpected News

Chapter 4

The beeping machine made me blink, trying to make sense of my surroundings. My head throbbed like it might split open. I tried to sit up, but saw that my body was hooked up to drips and an oxygen mask.

It looks like I’m in the hospital.

I blinked again and met my mom and sister’s worried faces. I pulled off the oxygen and tried to sit up, but my mom grabbed my arm.

“Don’t move. You’re not fit yet,” she said, firm.

She pushed me back down. I studied her face, worry braided with something colder, like disappointment. My sister wore the same expression.

“Where am I?” I asked, each breath a struggle.

“You’re in the hospital. You fainted when the wedding was about to be finalized, so we rushed you here,” Mom said softly.

So the wedding didn’t go through?

A wave of relief washed over me.

“You’ve been here three days,” Zara added, dressed casually in jeans and a top, looking both sad and annoyed.

Three days? That’s a lot.

Why do they look so disappointed? Did they find out about Aaron?

“What’s wrong? Why are you both so sad?” I asked, bewildered.

“Sarah, do you have a boyfriend?” Mom asked suddenly. My stomach dropped.

Why would she ask that? She never asks things like this.

“No, I… I don’t,” I managed, breathless.

Zara didn’t even look at me. She stared off, eyes cold.

Did they find out about Aaron? I felt my throat close.

Mom pulled out a white paper and held it toward me. “It says here you’re six weeks pregnant. Who’s the father?”

My whole body froze. My heart slammed against my ribs. I stared at the paper; the result read POSITIVE.

Fuck — fuck — fuck.

The sheet trembled in my hands as I forced my gaze to Mom. Her face was blank, disappointment carved into it.

Aaron didn’t use protection. The room spun and I wanted to pass out, but Mom’s voice sliced through the fog and chilled me.

“You fainted from the stress of the pregnancy and high blood pressure,” she said quietly.

That explained my racing heart. Seeing Aaron getting married must’ve pushed everything over the edge.

“Who’s the father, Sarah? I thought you were picky, disgusted with men. And now this.” Zara’s voice was sharp, hurt wrapped in anger.

“Zara, she’s pregnant. Don’t make it worse,” Mom warned.

“Mom, my wedding was canceled because of this disgrace!” Zara snapped.

“ZARA!” Mom hissed.

“You don’t understand. Weren’t we supposed to have the wedding before pregnancy? Imagine what my actress friends will say when they find out my junior sister is pregnant. I’ll be the laughingstock!” Zara spat. “She’s twenty-three and couldn’t use protection. Now what?”

I couldn’t move. I sat motionless, imagining the worst. If Zara knew it was Aaron’s child, her husband’s, I was a dead woman.

I’m carrying Aaron’s child. My sister’s husband. This has to be a nightmare. I can’t keep the baby. I won’t. This is betrayal.

My chest tightened with shame. I began to cry, and their attention snapped to me. Mom’s mouth twisted.

“Don’t cry crocodile tears,” she said. “You’ve brought shame on the family. Imagine your father’s disappointment.”

“Now. Who’s the father?” Mom demanded, louder.

I cried harder, not for the pregnancy itself but because it was Aaron’s.

“You seem to not understand the question we’ve been asking for hours. Who’s the father?” Zara barked.

“I — I don’t know how this happened,” I stammered, trembling.

“Don’t tell me it’s some hopeless, broke lawyer boy that got you pregnant,” Zara sneered. I didn’t answer, and I could see her frustration flare.

“Young lady, are you deaf? Who’s the father?” Mom screamed.

The hospital door burst open. “Good morning, Mrs. Davids,” the doctor greeted. Mom nodded. The doctor stepped closer to me. “Miss Sarah, how are you feeling this morning? Any stomach pain?” he asked gently, noticing my tears. “Please don’t cry, it’s harmful for the baby.”

I took a shuddering breath, wiped my face, and heard the words come out of my mouth like a confession. “I want to get an abortion.”

“I want to get an abortion,” I said, voice final and cold.

“Miss Sarah, you are… wait—” The doctor’s words stuttered and fell away.

“Mom, she should get it done. Like, girl, no husband!” Zara snapped, sharp and frantic.

My head pounded as if someone were hammering inside my skull. I closed my eyes and felt the room tilt.

The doctor inhaled slowly, his professional mask slipping into something softer and sober. “You see, Miss Sarah, this is actually why I came. You won’t be able to safely terminate the pregnancy. Your womb is fragile.”

My spine went ice-cold. “What do you mean?” I whispered, each word small and afraid.

He met my eyes, steady and awful. “You have a weak uterus. An abortion would carry a very high risk. There’s only about a thirty percent chance you would survive the procedure.”

Thirty percent. The number hit like a slap. My breath stopped. For a sick, ridiculous second I wondered what I’d done to deserve this, cursed, punished, whatever word fit.

“Wait, so you’re saying if she has an abortion, she’ll die?” Mom’s voice cracked, raw with panic.

“I didn’t say she will definitely die, Mrs. Davids,” the doctor corrected gently, his voice clinical and kind at once. “I said there’s only roughly a thirty percent chance of survival. The risk is extremely high.”