Page 8 of The Secrets that Surround Us

“Confused. My throat is dry. What happened?” I rasp out.

The doctor nods as he listens. The nurse goes to the pitcher of water sitting next to the bed, handing me a cup. Fuck, I didn’t even see it there. I would’ve asked my mom to get me some water.

“Careful. We don’t want you throwing up again,” the nurse warns me as I chug it.

Once it’s all gone, I hand the cup back, whispering, “Thank you.”

The nurse gives me a big smile when the doctor asks me questions. “Fiona, other than your throat, how does everything else feel?”

Pausing, I take note of my body. “My head hurts a little.”

“That’s to be expected. You fell and hit your head. We ran a few tests to make sure that everything was okay.”

A lump forms in my throat as the worst-case scenarios of what could be wrong run through my mind. “You’re extremely dehydrated.” Nodding, he points to the IV. “We gave you an IV. of fluids.” He looks down at his clipboard, then up at me with a look I can’t quite read. “Congratulations, Fiona… You’re pregnant.”

“What? I can’t be pregnant. Are you sure?”

The doctor’s brow pulls together as he processes my question. “We did a blood test. It’s one hundred percent accurate. You are pregnant.”

That’s when all hell breaks loose. “I knew it! You’re a whore. I should’ve known when you started putting your job before the church!” my father yells from across the room.

He points his finger at me as she marches right at me, screaming in my face. “This happens when you turn your back on God!”

I look to my mother for help, but I should’ve known better. Her eyes are fixated on the ground, refusing to look at me as my dad continues to rip into me. “You’re not welcome in my house anymore.”

“Sir. Please keep your voice down,” the nurse says to him, but he doesn’t seem to register what she’s saying. “You are not an Adams anymore, Fiona. I never want to see your face again,” my father snaps at me before he grabs my sobbing mother and walks out the door.

Laying my head back down on the pillow, I close my eyes, trying to hold back tears that seem to want to pour out. When a hand lands on my arm, my eyes open, and I look at the owner. The nurse rubs my arm to comfort me. “Its okay sweetheart. You’ll make it through this.”

Nodding my head, I blink away the tears, because right now isn’t the time to break down. I place my hand on my stomach. “I’m really pregnant?”

“Yes. You’re really pregnant. Do you have someone we can call?”

Wracking my brain, I try to think about who I can call to help me. Because not only am I pregnant, but after my father’s declaration, I’m apparently homeless too. The whole reason I was living at home was to save up money since I had just started my photography business.

Starting my business and running it costs more money than I realized. Now I have my little bean to think of. A tear runs down my cheek as the idea that I might not continue my business enters my mind.

I brush the tears away. “Did anyone bring my purse when I came in?”

The nurse answers instead of the doctor. She heads toward a set of doors in the room. “Let me check in the closet.”

When she opens the door, I see my purse sitting right there on the shelf. I feel grateful that my parents felt the need to grab one of my belongings. My hand goes straight to my chest. “Oh, thank god.”

She grabs my purse and hands it to me. Opening it up, I rummage through it until I find my cell phone. Pulling it out, I look at the doctor and nurse. “Can I get some privacy, please?”

“Of course, sweetheart. I’ll be back in a bit to check in on you.” They both leave, but before they do, I stop them. “Excuse me, when can I leave?”

The doctor turns back toward me and nods. “As soon as you have someone to pick you up, we can release you.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

Watching them both leave, I feel like a can breathe without eyes on me. Time to figure out how I can get out of this mess. Scrolling through my contacts, I look for the one number that belongs to the one person who could help me. I hit Send, then wait on pins and needles until I hear her voice. I met her when I was out advertising my business. She was looking for a photographer for her wedding that wouldn’t cost an arm and a leg. I was looking for my first client. When the phone rings on the other line I release my breath, when I finally hear it. “Hello.”

“Hazel, it’s Fiona. I need your help. Please come to St. Andrews Hospital, and I’ll explain everything.”

Chapter six

Fiona

---