Chapter 8 - Ohh
1379 Words
Days went by, the morning routines, co worker gossips, going back tired and starting all over again.
But that morning didn't feel like usual, not the usual tiredness that came from sleepless nights and overworked day, it was as if she got into a fight in her dreams and was beaten black and red.
Her body ached in places she didn’t know could ache. Her head throbbed faintly, and when she swung her legs off the bed, dizziness forced her to grip the edge of the mattress.
“Okay,” she muttered,
pressing a hand to her temple. “its just stress and Overthinking. It's nothing serious. She comforted herself,
She dressed slowly, choosing loose clothes and careful movements.
Why she walked to the kitchen, it felt longer than usual, and the coffee didn’t help. Every sip burned slightly, and she put the cup down, unsure if it was the caffeine or the unsettled feeling in her stomach
She left the coffee and decided to go to work, maybe she'll feel better. She would have called in sick but then, There was no excuse to call in sick, not when customers were waiting, the kitchen needed hands, and she couldn’t afford the judgment.
“Morning, Aimee,” greeted Chika, one of her coworkers, peering at her over the counter. “You look… pale.”
“I’m fine,” Aimee replied automatically, offering a small, forced smile. “Just tired.”
Chika frowned but didn’t press. She knew better than to push.
The day dragged slowly. From Pots clanging,to orders been shouted, so many smells filled the room, and every step felt heavier than the last. By mid-morning, nausea rolled in, subtle at first, then insistent. She pressed a hand to her stomach
“Not now,” she whispered. “It’s probably nothing.”
Her hands trembled as she chopped vegetables, and once a knife slipped, cutting slightly into her finger. She hissed, wrapping it in a paper towel, trying to steady her shaking hands.
By lunch, the fatigue and nausea had already worsened. She bent over the sink, gagging quietly, brushing away tears of frustration she couldn’t let anyone see.
“Maybe I should call…” she thought, but immediately rejected the idea. Hospitals were for emergencies. She didn’t want attention. She didn’t want questions. She didn’t want to admit something might be wrong.
But by mid-afternoon, she knew she couldn’t ignore it. Feeling very feverish and weak, she finally dialed the hospital, hands shaking.
“Good afternoon, this is Aimee,” she said, trying to sound calm. “I… I need to see a doctor. I’ve been feeling sick for a few days, and it’s not improving.”
The receptionist’s tone was kind but efficient. “We can schedule you for the earliest available appointment. Can you come in this afternoon?”
“Yes,” Aimee said quickly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Please. As soon as possible.”
After hanging up, she stood in the kitchen, pressing her palm to the counter, her both legs were so weak that she couldn't walk, Her stomach churned. She swallowed hard, fighting the urge to throw up.
It’s nothing, you're going to be okay, it's only stress eating you up. she repeatedly said to herself, but the words didn’t convince her. She had to take an excuse from her boss and went straight to the hospital.
The hospital waiting room was bright, and noisy. People chatted, children cried, phones buzzed. The world went on, oblivious to her turmoil. She shifted in her seat, pulling her cardigan tighter, wishing for invisibility.
When the nurse called her name, Aimee walked slowly, each step heavy. Routine questions. Blood pressure, temperature, symptoms. She recited them mechanically, voice flat. Every word felt fragile, like it could shatter her resolve
“And any chance you might be pregnant?” the nurse asked, gently.
Aimee’s stomach dropped. She laughed nervously. “No… I don’t think so.”
The nurse simply nodded and ran the tests anyway. Aimee sat back down, hands folded, her chest pounding. She focused on her breathing, trying to ignore the images of Philip that intruded unbidden, his hands, his voice, his expression the night he left.
He’s gone. He’s not coming back. I have to forget him, she told herself over and over.
Minutes felt like hours. Finally, the doctor returned. Her name was called very soft and cautious. Aimee’s stomach clenched.
“The test came back positive,” the doctor said.
Her mind blanked. Positive… positive for what?
“You’re pregnant,” the doctor said gently.
That was the worst part.
The clock kept ticking. A cart rattled in the hallway. Somewhere, someone laughed.
And yet Aimee felt like she’d been split open.
“I—” Her voice broke. She cleared her throat. “That’s not… that can’t be right.”
The doctor didn’t argue. Just explained. Weeks along. Early. Confirmed.
Aimee nodded mechanically, tears blurring her vision.
Pregnant.
The word didn’t fit in her mouth. Didn’t fit in her life.
Pregnant meant responsibility. Sacrifice. Change.
Pregnant meant him.
“How… how is that possible?” she whispered, even though she knew the answer.
The doctor spoke about timing and probability and biology.
Aimee barely heard it.
All she could think was I let this happen.
She signed papers with shaking hands. Accepted pamphlets she didn’t read. Walked out of the clinic in a daze.
Outside, the air felt too thin.
She walked into the bathroom and splashed water on her face again, gripping the sink as she stared at her reflection.
Her eyes were red. Her face blotchy.
But beneath all of that… she still looked like herself.
Aimee.
Not broken. Not gone.
Just scared.
She slid down the bathroom wall and sat on the cold tiles, hugging herself.
The tears came again, softer this time.
“I didn’t mean to be careless,” she said quietly. “I didn’t mean to ruin anything.”
Her mind drifted back to Philip—how confident he’d been, how in control. How she’d felt safe in his presence, even when she shouldn’t have.
He probably thinks I’ve moved on, she thought.
He probably already has.
The idea hurt more than she expected.
She stayed there for a long time, letting the fear and guilt wash over her until they dulled into something heavier but steadier.
When she finally stood, it felt like a decision had been made somewhere deep inside her—even if she hadn’t fully named it yet.
She returned to the bedroom and sat on the bed again.
Her phone buzzed.
Her heart jumped violently.
She grabbed it—
Nothing.
Just a reminder notification.
She exhaled shakily and set it aside.
“If you’re not coming back,” she whispered into the quiet, “then I have to figure this out on my own.”
She lay back and stared at the ceiling once more.
Images of the future flickered through her mind—unclear, frightening, but persistent.
A small hand in hers.
A tiny cry in the night.
A life that depended on her.
Her chest tightened, but this time… something else stirred alongside the fear.
A strange, fragile protectiveness.
She pressed her palm gently against her stomach.
“I don’t know how to do this,” she said honestly. “I don’t know if I’ll be good at it.”
Her voice cracked.
“But… I know what it’s like to feel unwanted.”
Tears slid silently into her hair.
“And I don’t think I could live with myself if I passed that feeling on.”
The room stayed quiet.
No sign. No confirmation.
Just her and the weight of the choice forming inside her.
She took a slow, shaky breath.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Okay.”
The word didn’t fix anything. It didn’t erase the fear or answer the questions waiting for her.
But it anchored her.
She stayed there, one hand over her stomach, the other clutching the sheets, letting the reality settle.
She would keep the baby.
No matter how scared she was.
No matter how alone she felt.
No matter how much her life would change.
Outside, the city moved on.
Inside, Aimee’s world had quietly, irrevocably shifted.
- Writer
