PREGNANT FOR MY RUTHLESS BOSS

CHAPTER 6: THE DAY HUNGER ALMOST WON

My baby moved when I hadn’t eaten in two days.

Not gently.

It was sharp enough to make me burst into tears.

My hand flew to my stomach, my breath catching as fear gripped me instantly.

“No… no, I’m here,” I whispered quickly, like my child could hear my panic. “I’m here.”

But my body told a different story.

Weak and shaking.

The room felt smaller that morning.

I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the empty table across from me. No food. No leftovers. Not even bread.

Just silence.

My stomach tightened painfully, but I ignored it.

I had learned how.

What I couldn’t ignore was the life inside me.

Another small movement.

Another reminder.

My fingers pressed gently against my stomach, my expression hardening despite the fear behind my eyes.

“You’ll eat,” I said under my breath. “Even if I don’t.”

The words sounded strong.

But they felt like a lie.

Work didn’t wait.

It never did.

I forced myself up, my legs unsteady for a moment before I caught my balance. The room spun slightly, but I pushed through it.

I had no choice.

The clinic was already busy when I arrived.

Patients filled the waiting area. Voices overlapped.

The smell of antiseptic mixed with exhaustion.

Normal.

Everything looked normal.

Except me.

“You’re late,” the supervisor said without looking at me.

“I won’t be again,” I replied.

I didn’t explain.

I never explained.

Hours passed.

I moved nonstop.

Cleaning. Carrying. Wiping. Standing.

My body begged me to stop.

My back ached constantly now, a deep, dull pain that never fully went away. My head felt light. My hands weren’t as steady as they used to be.

But I didn’t slow down.

Because slowing down meant being seen.

And being seen meant questions.

Around midday, the dizziness returned.

Stronger this time.

I gripped the edge of a table, my knuckles whitening as I tried to steady myself.

“Are you okay?” someone asked nearby.

“I’m fine,” I said quickly.

Too quickly.

I straightened, forcing my body to obey, forcing my vision to clear.

But the world didn’t fully settle.

It swayed slightly.

Like it was waiting.

I made it through the shift.

Barely.

By the time I stepped outside, the sun felt too bright against my eyes.

My stomach twisted again.

Empty.

Still empty.

I walked slowly, my steps heavier now, my energy draining faster than I could replace it.

I passed a small food stand.

The smell hit me instantly.

Hot. Fresh.

My stomach reacted before I could stop it.

I paused.

Just for a second.

My hand moved to my pocket.

Coins.

Not enough.

Not even close.

I stood there longer than I should have, watching someone else pay, watching them eat without thinking twice.

Then I turned away.

Because watching hurts more.

That night, I took the second job.

Cleaning offices.

The building was quiet, empty except for the echo of my footsteps and the hum of distant machines.

It should have been easier.

It wasn’t.

Every movement felt heavier now.

My arms ached. My legs trembled slightly with each step.

Still, I kept going.

Because stopping wasn’t an option.

At some point, I bent down to pick up a fallen file.

And my body didn’t rise as easily.

I paused.

Just for a second.

My hand pressed against my stomach instinctively.

The baby moved again.

Weaker this time.

Or maybe that was just my fear talking.

“No,” I whispered. “Don’t do that.”

My voice broke slightly.

I stayed there longer than I meant to, crouched on the floor, breathing slowly, trying to calm the rising panic in my chest.

“I’m trying,” I said again. “I’m trying.”

But this time, it didn’t feel like enough.

On my way home, the street felt longer than usual.

Quieter.

Each step drained what little strength I had left.

My vision blurred at the edges. My breathing became uneven.

Something wasn’t right.

I knew it.

My body knew it.

But I kept walking.

Because there was nowhere else to go.

Then it happened.

Too fast.

My foot caught on uneven ground.

My balance shifted.

And suddenly, the world tilted.

I reached out for something—anything.

Nothing was there.

My knees hit the ground first.

Pain shot through me, but it barely registered.

Because something else took over.

Fear.

Raw. Immediate. Paralyzing.

My hand flew to my stomach.

“Please,” I whispered, my voice shaking violently.

“Please, not my baby.”

The world around me blurred into noise.

Voices and footsteps.

Someone calling out.

But none of it mattered.

All I could feel was my heartbeat hammering in my chest.

All I could think was one thing.

My child.

“Hey, can you hear me?”

A voice cut through the haze.

Close.

I blinked slowly, my vision struggling to focus.

My lips parted, but no words came at first.

Then finally

“My baby,” I whispered.

My voice was barely there.

“Please… check my baby.”

Hands steadied me.

Voices overlapped again.

“We need to get her up.”

“She’s pregnant.”

“Call someone.”

Everything blurred together.

My body felt too heavy.

Like it didn’t belong to me anymore.

I tried to stay awake.

I tried to hold on.

But the darkness crept in anyway.

Slow at first.

Then faster.

Stronger.

Before everything disappeared, one last thought broke through.

If I lost this child…

Then everything I endured meant nothing.

When my eyes opened again, the ceiling was unfamiliar.

A hospital.

My breath caught instantly.

My hand moved to my stomach without thinking.

I froze.

Too afraid to know.

A voice spoke beside me.

Calm.

Measured.

“You’re awake.”

I turned my head slowly, my heart pounding painfully.

“Is my baby okay?”

The question came out before anything else.

No hesitation.

No delay.

The doctor paused.

Just long enough to make my chest tighten.

“Your baby is alive,” he said.

Relief hit me so hard it almost hurt.

But it didn’t last.

Because his expression didn’t soften.

“You were severely weakened,” he continued.

“Exhaustion and stress.”

Each word landed heavier than the last.

My fingers curled into the sheet.

“You cannot continue like this,” he said firmly.

“Next time, you may not be this lucky.”

Lucky.

The word echoed in my mind.

Because I knew what he meant.

I was already running out of chances.

That night, I lay still.

Silent.

My hand resting on my stomach.

I had pushed my body too far.

Ignored every warning.

Risked everything.

And for what?

Survival.

Is this what survival is supposed to look like?

My eyes opened in the dark.

Something inside me shifted.

Something sharper.

More desperate.

Because now the truth was clear.

Working harder wasn’t enough.

Trying harder wasn’t enough.

If I stayed like this…

I would lose everything.

My fingers tightened slowly against the blanket.

My breathing steadied.

And for the first time since I left that city…

A dangerous thought entered my mind.

One I had been avoiding.

One I didn’t want to face.

But now I had no choice.

If I wanted my child to live…

I might have to go back to the only place I swore I would never return to.