Page 6

“This will be an easy enough case, I think,” she says with a smile. “You’re pregnant.”

I just look at her.

I don’t panic. My breathing doesn’t speed up, and my heart doesn’t start pounding. I just stare at her, even as a chill scuttles down my spine. There’s no way I heard that right.

No, that can’t be. Not me.

“Th-that’s impossible,” I stammer. “There’s no way.”

My hands clench into fists, nails digging into my palms until it hurts.

“Sometimes, even with precautions, life finds a way,” Dr. Thompson says, that damn smile still on her face.

“But I haven’t taken any risks. There must be a mistake. Retest. Please.”

“Mercy,” she begins gently.

She clears her throat. She looks uncomfortable.

I can’t blame her, I am too.

“We did ask about birth control when you came in, and you said you weren’t on anything. Do you use condoms?”

She seems so confused.

I blush, feeling the heat in my cheeks crawling all the way up to my forehead.

“No,” I say, trying to force a smile. “I’m not married.”

Her eyes widen in surprise. I can almost see the judgment flicker across her face before she regains her composure. With a small sigh, she reaches for a tissue and hands it to me. I accepted it with a tight-lipped smile.

“Regardless of your marital status, the test results are quite clear. It’s nothing new. We see this all the time. Mistakes happen, and it’s actually quite common,” she says, choosing her words carefully, as if afraid to set off a bomb. “I understand this may come as a shock, but we need to discuss your options.”

I lean back in the uncomfortable plastic chair, the sterile scent of the hospital room making my head swim. The bright, florescent lights glare overhead, beaming down on me like God’s light, except they are harsh, and I felt no love from them.

“No, I don’t think youdounderstand,” I say, balling the tissue she handed me into my fist until it was small—as small as I could make it, and almost as small as I felt. “I am not married. I was saving myself for marriage.”

Her professional facade falters for a moment before she quickly composes herself. She adjusts her glasses and peers at me intently.

She doesn’t believe me.

She thinks I’m lying.

“I’m a virgin.”

She stops, blinks at me, and clears her throat.

“I understand, Miss Clarke,” she says. “But sometimes, things happen beyond our control.”

I shake my head.

“I-I can’t be pregnant,” I stammer, feeling the panic starting to settle in my chest. “There must be some mistake. You mixed up the results, or… or something.”

“Let’s sit down and talk about this, Mercy. There are options we can explore,” Dr. Thompson offers.

Options?

I shrink away.