MORNING SICKNESS AND DARK SECRETS
1193 Words
EMILY'S POV
The bathroom stall door clicks shut behind me, and I drop to my knees just in time.
My stomach heaves violently, the contents of my breakfast splashing into the toilet bowl. I grip the edges of the seat, my knuckles white, my body shaking with every wave of nausea.
"Just breathe," I whisper to myself. "Just breathe. It'll pass."
But it doesn't pass. It never passes.
I've been hiding this for weeks now. At work, I sip water constantly. I keep crackers in my desk drawer. I blame my pale complexion on stress and my frequent bathroom trips on bad coffee.
But I know the truth. This baby is growing inside me, demanding to be acknowledged. Demanding to be felt.
I flush the toilet and lean against the cold tile wall, my forehead pressed to the surface. My skin is clammy. My hands tremble. I look like death warmed over.
"Emily?" A voice comes from outside the stall. "Are you okay in there?"
It's Janet. Of course it's Janet. The woman who hates me for no reason.
"I'm fine," I call out, forcing my voice to sound steady. "Just a little stomach bug."
"Stomach bug." Her laugh is cold. "Right. That's what they all say."
I hear her footsteps retreat, and I breathe a sigh of relief. The last thing I need is Janet spreading rumors about me. She already thinks I'm a threat. If she finds out I'm pregnant, she'll use it against me. I'm sure of it.
I stand up slowly, my legs wobbly beneath me. I wash my face in the sink, patting it dry with paper towels. My reflection stares back at me, pale and hollow-eyed.
"You can do this," I tell myself. "You've survived worse than this. You can survive one more day."
But can I?
The weight of everything presses down on me. The secrets. The lies. The danger. The baby.
Derek's baby.
I press my hand to my stomach, feeling the slight swell that's starting to form. It's barely noticeable. I can still hide it with loose clothes and clever positioning. But soon, I won't be able to.
"What are you going to do?" I whisper to my reflection. "What are you going to do about this baby?"
I don't have an answer.
---
After work, I tell myself I'm going home. I walk toward the bus stop, my bag slung over my shoulder. But my feet take me in a different direction.
Before I know it, I'm standing outside a clinic. A small, unassuming building with a sign that reads: "Women's Health Center."
I don't remember walking here. I don't remember deciding to come.
But here I am.
The receptionist smiles at me. "Can I help you?"
"I—" My voice cracks. "I need to see a doctor. About a pregnancy."
I fill out the forms with shaking hands. My name. My address. My family history. The date of my last period.
The doctor calls me in after what feels like an eternity. She's a kind woman with gray hair and gentle eyes. She reminds me of my mother.
"Emily," she says, motioning me to sit. "What brings you here today?"
"I think I'm pregnant," I say. "No. I know I'm pregnant. I just need confirmation."
She nods and walks me through the tests. A blood test. An ultrasound. The familiar rituals I've read about but never experienced.
The ultrasound is the worst part. I lie on the table, my shirt pushed up, cold gel smeared across my stomach. The doctor moves the wand over my skin, her eyes fixed on the monitor.
"Ah," she says. "There it is."
"What is it?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper.
She turns the monitor toward me. "Your baby."
I see it. A tiny shape, no bigger than a bean. A flicker of light in the center. A heartbeat.
My baby. Derek's baby.
"The heartbeat is strong," the doctor says. "You're about eight weeks along. Everything looks healthy so far."
"Healthy," I repeat. The word feels foreign on my tongue.
"Is the father involved?" the doctor asks carefully. "Do you have support at home?"
I laugh bitterly. "The father is a monster. And I'm not sure anyone can support me through this."
The doctor's eyes soften with understanding. "Emily, I'm here to help. Whatever decision you make, I support you. You're not alone."
"Can I see it again?" I ask. "The baby?"
She moves the wand, and the image appears again. That tiny shape. That steady pulse.
My baby.
---
I sit in the waiting room after the appointment, a pamphlet in my hand. "Your Options: A Guide to Pregnancy and Beyond."
I open it, scanning the pages. The medical definitions. The legal considerations. The emotional support.
And then I see the page about termination.
My eyes skim the words. The procedure. The recovery. The counseling.
The guilt.
I think about my father. How he wanted me to be strong. How he wanted me to live with purpose and honor. How he believed in second chances.
How he believed in me.
I think about my mother. How she's already lost so much. How she's clinging to me because I'm all she has left. How this baby might give her something to hope for.
I think about the baby. That tiny heartbeat on the monitor. That flicker of life.
I think about Derek. The monster who ruined my family. The man who killed my father. The CEO who thinks he can control everyone and everything.
I think about the one-night stand. The chain. The way he made me feel.
I think about all the reasons I should terminate this pregnancy. All the reasons it's the logical, practical, safe choice.
And I think about all the reasons I can't.
I can't kill this baby. I can't destroy this life that's growing inside me. Even if it's Derek's. Even if it ties me to him forever.
I call my mother. "Mom? I need to tell you something."
"Emily? What's wrong? Are you okay?"
"I'm pregnant." The words come out in a rush. "I'm going to keep the baby. I've made my decision."
She's silent for a moment. Then she speaks, her voice thick with tears.
"Emily, I'm proud of you. So proud."
"I'm scared," I admit. "I'm so scared."
"I know, my love. But you're not alone. You have me. You have Blackwood. We'll get through this together."
"Even if I can't tell you who the father is?"
"Even then."
I hang up and walk home through the dark streets, my hand resting on my stomach. The baby is still there. Growing. Beating. Living.
And so am I.
I'm not going to let Derek Molson destroy me. I'm not going to let him take anything else from me.
Not my dignity. Not my hope. Not my baby.
I'm going to get justice for my father. I'm going to expose the Molson family for what they are. I'm going to build a life for myself and my child.
And if Derek tries to stop me, he'll regret it.
Because this Haven girl isn't going down without a fight.
- Writer
