PREGNANT VIRGIN

-----Joan's P. O. V--------- I dressed carefully that morning, smoothing the creases of my skirt and brushing my hair until it shone. I glanced at my reflection in the mirror, took a deep breath, and signed with determination. Today I was heading to St. Augustine Fertility Clinic for my last ovulation-stimulation injection. Finally, After months of medication, sleepless nights, and counting cycles, my body was responding. By June, Mark and I would be married, and soon after, I could finally conceive his child. The bus ride was tense. I gripped the seat, watching the city blur past. When it slowed near the clinic, I jumped off, weaving through the traffic carefully, my heart thundering. Across the street, the clinic’s glass doors reflected the sunlight, crisp and bright. Inside, I scanned the waiting area and almost collided with someone. “Oh! I’m so sorry,” I apologized, stepping back. “You’re blind, huh?” the man said coldly before striding past. I blinked, heat rising to my cheeks, and muttered under my breath, Not today. Don’t let anyone ruin this day. The receptionist’s voice brought me back. “Miss Joan Adams?” “Yes.” “Dr. Matthews is ready for you. Nurse Sheila will show you in.” I followed the nurse down the corridor, the smell of antiseptic mixing with the faint scent of perfume. She paused outside a door and said, professional but without warmth, “You may enter. Dr. Matthews is ready.” I took a deep breath, smoothed my gown, and knocked lightly. “Come in,” Dr. Matthews called. I opened the door. His eyes lifted from the chart, and he gave a small smile. “Good morning, Joan.How are we feeling today?” “Excited,” I said, though my stomach twisted nervously. “A little anxious, but… mostly excited.” “That’s completely normal,” he said, motioning for me to sit. “Before we begin, I need to ask a few questions. Any unusual cramping or spotting since your last injection?” “No,” I said, shaking my head. “Actually, my period just finished two weeks ago. Everything seems normal.” He nodded, jotting notes on the clipboard. “Excellent. That’s a good sign. Your body is ready. The lining is thick, and the ovaries are responding perfectly to the stimulation. Any anxiety about the injection itself?” “I guess a little,” I admitted. “I mean… I know it’s routine, but it’s the last one. I just… I want it to go well.” He chuckled softly. “You’ve handled every step perfectly, Joan. Today will be smooth. You’ll feel a small prick for the injection, a tiny pinch, then that’s it. Nothing severe. After that, the second part of the procedure begins.” He picked up the ring phone on the desk and dialed quickly. “Sheila, prep the medications for Joan’s first and second doses. Ready for both stations.” “Understood,” came the nurse’s voice over the line. “Great,” he said, turning his attention back to me. “Shall we?” I nodded, and he led me down another corridor into a small, bright prep room. The nurse had already arranged the tray—two small vials, antiseptic swabs, and cotton balls. My heart pounded, excitement mixing with a nervous flutter. “Lie back, please,” Dr. Matthews instructed, guiding me onto the table. “Take a deep breath. This will be over before you know it.” I exhaled, gripping the edge of the table. The cool antiseptic touched my skin. He cleaned the area carefully, his hands steady, his voice calm. “Ready?” he asked. “Yes,” I whispered. The needle went in—quick, precise. I felt the prick and then a slight pressure, nothing more. He pressed a cotton ball to my thigh. “All done,” he said, smiling. “Rest here for a few hours before we move on to the next stage.” I exhaled, a shiver of relief running through me. My body felt lighter, almost buoyant. Finally, the last dose of the stimulation injection. Finally, my body was ready. Finally… I was one step closer to giving Mark the child I had saved myself for. I had been resting for over four hours, my body still humming from the last injection. . The quiet of the ward was only broken by the soft beeps of the monitors, the distant footsteps of staff, and the low murmur of conversations from the other rooms. The door clicked open. A fresh pair of shoes approached me. “Miss Joan?” a calm voice called. I lifted my head. “Yes,” I replied. “Dr. Nike is ready for you now,” she said. I hesitated. “How about Dr. Matthews?” “Oh, he just did your first session,” the nurse replied smoothly. “He’s on his afternoon break. Dr. Nike will take over for the next step.” I nodded, not thinking much of it. I was too focused on feeling better, on finally moving forward. The nurse led me to another ward. The air felt cooler here, cleaner in some sterile way that made me shiver slightly. Everything was set: the bed, the stirrups, the instruments neatly arranged. Dr. Nike appeared at the doorway, a faint smile on his lips. “We’ll make this quick,” he said. “About fifteen minutes, then your injection, and you’ll be free to go.” I gave a small nod and settled onto the bed, placing my hands lightly on the thin sheet. When he asked me to lie down and spread my legs, I felt the familiar flutter of nerves—the same way I had during my very first pap smear test. His eyes lingered on me for a moment, almost amused, but he didn’t speak. I stared at the ceiling, counting tiles, focusing on the mundane pattern to keep my mind from wandering. Minutes later, it was done. A sharp, quick injection, warm and strange as it slid into my body, and then he was finished. “You’ll rest here for a few minutes,” he instructed. The nurse adjusted a pillow under my knees, then stepped back. When it was time to be discharged, Dr. Nike handled the paperwork himself. He leaned slightly on the desk, glancing at me casually. “Hmmm… you’re a virgin?” he asked, in a tone that was more curious than judgmental. “Yes,” I replied, keeping my voice steady. He tilted his head. “Then why did you choose to go through this process?” “What process?” I asked, genuinely confused by his tone. He chuckled softly, a light, almost teasing sound, but shook his head. “Never mind. Your decision suits you best. Just make sure you don’t do anything strenuous. If you notice any spotting, come in immediately for a checkup.” As soon as I left the hospital, I dialed Mark’s number. No answer. Probably at work, I told myself. I decided to go to his house and prepare something for him to eat. I had his spare key. The gate was unlocked. He must be around. I pushed the door open. And then I saw him. Mark was naked with his body pressed against the girl he had always called his cousin. Her legs wrapped around him, her nails digging into his skin. He was thrusting into her with hunger, a force that made my stomach twist. Her moans filled the room, and they didn’t notice me at first. Then I screamed. A sound ripped from my throat—raw, broken, filled with disbelief and rage. They both turned. Mark pulled away from her slowly, his chest heaving, eyes bloodshot. He looked hard, dangerous, but the hardness in his body betrayed him more than his voice ever could. “What are you doing here?” His tone was low, rough, sharp—but I didn’t care. Mirabel straightened her dress, her gaze slicing through me. Mark fumbled to buckle his trousers, but he didn’t avert his eyes from mine. Tears blurred my vision, burning my cheeks. “Mark…” My voice cracked, trembling. “I—I can’t believe what I’m seeing,” I stammered, my throat raw. “What…what did I do to deserve this?” Mirabel smirked, her eyes sharp and victorious. Mark just stared, like I was nothing more than an insect in his way. I took a shaky step forward, voice breaking. “Mark…what did I do to deserve this? Tell me!” He didn’t move. He just looked at me with that same cruel calm. “Common, Joan,” he said finally with a cold distant voice, “We are from different worlds. You’re below my class.” I stared at him, my heart pounding, tears streaming, anger and betrayal twisting inside me. Mark, look me in the eyes and tell me that again, I challenged him.