Page 43 of Forced Prisoner By the Bratva

As if that wasn't enough, now I think I might be pregnant by the same man who messed up my life.

In reality, I mustered a smile that seemed awkwardly genuine. My response was calm and smooth, masking the tension brewing within me. “I've been good, too.” I let that grin spread across my face, my head slightly nodding as if trying to convince myself to believe my claims. “So, uh…what're youdoing here?” I changed the subject, scratching the back of my head.

“Oh, I'm actually here for a checkup,” she said, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she announced. “I’m studying to become a psychologist, you know.” Her voice was tinged with enthusiasm.

“Wow! That's incredible,” I said, feeling genuinely happy for her.

At least she got to do what she wanted with her life, unlike me.

“Yeah, I love learning about….”

And just like that, Clarice's voice droned on. I could see her lips moving, her hands flying emphatically in the air, but my mind had drifted away from the conversation.

Clarice, on the other hand, was oblivious to my distraction. She continued to chat, her words bubbling forth like a cheerful brook, making me feel guilty about not being mentally present.

“What about you? What're you doing here?” Her question snapped me back to reality.

“Uh…same,” I said. Then, I added almost immediately, “The checkup part, of course, not the psychology part.”

She chuckled, her laugh quiet and innocent as she appeared caught up in her enthusiasm. “Well, it was nice meeting you again, Tessa.” She glanced at her watch.

“You, too, Clarice,” I replied, trying to match her vibrant tone.

“We should catch up soon,” she proposed, raising her brows in anticipation. “Maybe over coffee?”

I flashed a faint grin. “That would be nice.”

“Great.” Her grin widened.

We exchanged numbers, and she hugged me one more time before stepping away. “Bye, Tess.”

I wiggled my fingers in her direction. “Bye, Clarice.”

The moment she turned around and left, my anxiety returned as I continued to the gynecology ward. The reality of my situation settled in like a cold shroud, stealing my fleeting moment of bliss and, eventually, my breath.

I clasped my shades back on and continued my journey until I got to the ward.

Waiting for the doctor's arrival was the worst part. I sat on the bed in the sterile white room, under the soft glow and the deafening silence that seemed to echo off the walls. My heart was pounding in my slowly heaving chest as I struggled against the overwhelming nervousness.

The air was heavy with the smell of disinfectant, its pungent scent mingling with the sweet tang of antiseptic wipes.

I lowered my head and buried my face in my palms, wondering how much longer I'd have to endure this terrible suspense.

Then I heard the door open behind me, and my heart sank into my chest as I turned in the direction.

“So sorry for the delay,” Dr. Sharon Henderson said, strolling into the ward. “There was an emergency with a patient in the ER.” She adjusted her wire-rimmed glass and halted in front of me.

“It's fine,” came my calm, whispered reply, a faint grin twitching at the corners of my lips.

By now, I'd done away with my mask—scarf and oversized dark shades.

“Let's get to it, shall?” she said, ready to begin.

I heaved a sigh and let her do her thing as I struggled to stay composed despite the turmoil and chaos within me.

With practiced ease, she performed a rapid series of tests, her sharp eyes scanning my charts from behind her glasses as she worked.

The examination was quicker than I expected, leaving me somewhat dazed. It was a rapid pregnancy test that involved Dr. Sharon Henderson taking my blood sample. I observed her conducting some tests with her equipment, and within the next five minutes, she was finished.

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