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Scarlett

The room swims before me, a carousel of pastel walls and sterile smells. I blink rapidly, trying to steady my world as I adjust the pillows behind my mother's frail form. She murmurs something incoherent, lost in a morphine dream, and I force a smile, pushing back the strands of golden hair that stick to my forehead.

I shake my head, dismissing the dizziness as stress. It's the hospital food I’ve been eating, plus a lack of proper sleep. Or maybe just the weight of a world where I'm playing mother to my own. I'm fine. I have to be.

"Hello, Scarlett." The doctor’s voice cuts through the fog in my mind.

Dr. Henley, in his coat as white as the lilies, steps into the room with a chart in his hand. His eyes, a soft brown, meet mine. Concern wrinkles the space between his brows.

"You're looking a bit pale today," he says, setting the chart aside. His warmth doesn't quite reach his gaze.

"Am I?" I manage a weak laugh, gripping the bed rail for support. "Guess it's just one of those days."

"It could be, but since you are in the hospital anyway let's make sure it's nothing serious," Dr. Henley insists, reaching for my arm. A blood pressure cuff materializes from his pocket, and I know there's no point arguing. He's kind like that—always trying to make sure everyone he comes across is healthy.

"I don't want to waste your time," I murmur, but he's already shaking his head, his stethoscope cold against my back as he listens to my breathing.

"Deep breaths, Scarlett," he instructs. "And it's no waste. I'd rather check now than miss something we could catch early."

I comply, inhaling the sterile scent of antiseptics mingling with the faint aroma of flowers from the vase by Mom's bed. My chest tightens with each breath, not from the stethoscope's chill, but from the coiling uncertainty in my stomach.

"Everything okay?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper as he puts the blood pressure cuff on me.

"We'll see," he answers, noncommittal. "I'm ordering some blood tests."

"Blood test?" My heart skips a beat, and I feel a tremor in my hands. He notices and places a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

"Standard procedure," He says, and I nod, trying to still my nerves.

"Fine," I concede, biting my lip as the cuff tightens around my bicep. "But I … umm I am afraid of needles."

He laughs softly. “It’s just a prick, I assure you it will be over before you know it.”

As he leaves the room. I sit by Mom's bed, tapping my foot against the linoleum, synchronizing with the clock's relentless ticking.

Minutes crawl. Each second stretching taut like a wire ready to snap. I glance at Mom, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that I envy for its steadiness.

After about half an hour, a nurse walks in, hands me some paper, and asks me to take it to the blood test department. I comply and allow my feet to drag me there, praying it is just fatigue.

Later that evening

, the door opens again, and Dr. Henley walks in, his face a calm mask. He's holding a clipboard, and my pulse hammers in my ears as I brace myself.

“Would you like us to talk here, or would you prefer my office.”

“Here is fine,” I respond, unable to wait another second.

"Got your results," he says, taking the seat beside me. His fingers tap against the clipboard—a quiet drumming that seems too loud in the silent room.

"Is it bad?" I force out the question, my throat dry.

"Scarlett," he starts, his tone even, "it's not necessarily bad news, but—"

His words hang in the air, unfinished. My mind races, dreading what comes next.

"You're pregnant."

The words crash into me like a rogue wave. Pregnant? My heart stutters, and for a moment, I can't breathe. This must be some sort of mistake. I search Dr. Henley's face, looking for a sign that he's joking, but there's only the solemn truth etched in his expression.

"No," I say, my voice breaking. "That's impossible."

But even as I deny it, memories flash in my mind. Memories of a night entangled in the backseat of a car with a damn stranger. It was only once, a single lapse in judgment, and I took precautions right after.

Dr. Henley sighs, offering a sympathetic nod. “I’ll send you over to the obstetrician. They are better suited in that department to take care of you.”

It’s been two days since I learned that I am pregnant, and I am currently in an appointment with the obstetrician.

"Doctor, I … I’ve only ever been with a man once, and I took the morning-after pill," I whisper, gripping the edge of my seat until my knuckles turn white. "I did everything right."

"These things happen, even with precautions. The morning-after pill isn't a guarantee." She explains, her tone even, threading compassion through clinical facts, "While the morning-after pill is effective, it isn't absolute."

“Even if I have only been with a man once, and I took precautions after?” I ask again foolishly.

“Pregnancy is not a gradual process.” She explains calmly as though talking to a child. “You may engage in sexual activities multiple times, but it is just a single encounter in those that will get you pregnant. And, like I said, nothing is foolproof when it comes to contraception. Unfortunately, there's always a small chance."

My face is hot, and a tumult of emotions roils within me. Disbelief battles with a dawning realization and a sense of betrayal from my own body. How could it have failed me at a time like this?

“Can you remember when you had this encounter?”

"Two months ago," I murmur, the reality slowly settling in. "But I saw my period after the encounter."

"It must have been implantation bleeding." she explains that some women experiences slight bleeding around the time of their next period as that is when the fertilized egg is burrowing into the womb.

There's life growing inside of me—a secret life born from a night I've tried so hard to forget.

"Are you alright? she asks, concern knitting her brow.

"I don't know," I admit, my voice quivering. "I just ... I need a moment."

"Take your time," she says gently.

I sit in stunned silence. A baby. A stranger's baby. My thoughts swirl chaotically as I try to grasp the strings of my unraveling world.

“I will order a scan for us to be sure how far gone you are.”

I nod, barely processing her words. My hands drift to my abdomen, flat and unassuming, yet suddenly the epicenter of my existence. The reality of it presses down on me, heavy as the silence that fills the room.

"We'll schedule some follow-up appointments and discuss prenatal care."

"Okay," I whisper, my gaze dropping to my fingers, which trace small circles over the fabric of my shirt. There's life there, a life that's part of me—part of whatever his name is. Fear clashes with wonder, my mind warring with the idea of this tiny being inside.

"Scarlett?" She pulls me out of my thoughts.

I look up, meeting her caring and understanding eyes.

"Thank you," I manage to say, though gratitude is a complex emotion right now. It's not just for her professionalism but for the patience shining in her gaze.

I stand, a slow and deliberate rise that echoes the decision solidifying in my heart. The room seems to shrink around me, the walls closing in like they're pressing this truth onto my shoulders: I'm going to be a mother. There's no one left but me to carry on our family line, to hold onto the love and memories that have defined my life. This baby, an unexpected spark in the bleakness, will be my legacy, my family.

"My only family," I murmur, conviction steadying my shaky legs. My fingers linger on my stomach, and the knowledge of life inside makes the touch feel like a promise. With new-found energy, I make my way back to the oncology department.

"Mom," I whisper, standing by her bedside. The need to tell her presses against my lips, news too big to keep inside any longer.

"Mom," I say again, stronger now. "I have something to tell you."

Her eyelids flutter open, and I wait for the fog of medication to clear from her gaze. There's recognition there, the kind that anchors me when the seas of uncertainty threaten to drown me. She looks at me, really sees me, and in that gaze, I find the courage I need to speak.

"I'm pregnant," I tell her, the words tasting like a blend of fear and hope. Her hand finds mine and she gives me a tiny squeeze that says more than words ever could. It's not just comfort; it's strength. Her strength, flows into me, telling me I can do this, telling me that I’ve got this.

"I'm going to have a baby," I say again as if to convince myself. Her eyes, pools of love and pain, lock onto mine, and I see the woman who raised me, unyielding even now.

There's no verbal response—none is needed. It's in the way she squeezes my hand back, a lifeline thrown across the chasm of her illness. She knows, and somehow, it feels like permission to hope.

Tears blur my vision, emotions swelling like a tide within me, but they don't fall. They're held back by the determination that fills the spaces between us.

The faintest of smiles touches her lips, a silent echo to the joy I've just unleashed. Her hand—still in mine—feels like a lifeline as she gives it yet another weak squeeze.

"Scarlett," she finally breathes out my name, her voice a mere wisp. "A baby ...? Your baby?"

My heart clenches, and tears run down my cheek at the sound of her voice. She hasn’t spoken in weeks. "Yes, Mom. I'm going to be a mother." The title feels foreign on my tongue, a new identity taking shape within me.

"My grandchild," she murmurs, and a single tear trails down her cheek. "You're going to be an amazing mother, my sweet girl."

The encouragement, the love—it's all there, in those few words. It's like she's handing me the torch, telling me it's my turn to shine. To be strong for someone else now.

"Thank you, Mom." My voice cracks, and hot tears blur my vision. "I—I'm scared. But hearing you say that ..."

"Life is scary," she says, her gaze holding mine. "But you, Scarlett, you have courage. More than you know."

I nod, fighting the torrent of emotions threatening to overflow. Fear, yes—but hope too. And determination. For this tiny life growing inside me.

"Mom, I want you to know ... I'm going to keep the baby. No matter what happens. This child will know about you. About how brave and loving its grandmother was."

"Promise me," she insists, her frailty belied by the strength in her gaze. "Promise me you'll live fully, for yourself and the baby."

"I promise, Mom." The words are a pledge, an oath, as sacred as any ancient vow.

Her smile grows, bittersweet and beautiful. "Then I am happy."

I let the tears fully come now, a release, a cleansing. They are tears of grief for the moments my mother will miss, tears of joy for the new life I carry, and tears of resolve for the future I must build.

"Mom ..." I choke out, my hand still clasping hers, feeling the fragile rhythm of her pulse against my skin. "I love you. Thank you for being my rock."

"Always, my darling. Always." She closes her eyes, her breathing steady, and I sit with her, our hands entwined, as the machines beep their monotone lullaby.

In this room, filled with the scent of antiseptic and the soft glow of the bedside lamp, I understand. Love transcends fear. Life goes on. And I am not alone—not truly. Because I carry a piece of the past into the future, a secret flame that warms me from within.

"Sleep well, Mom," I whisper, pressing my lips to her forehead. "Your little girl has got this."

My thumb strokes her knuckles. I imagine a tiny hand in mine, years from now, seeking comfort and guidance. This thought steadies the tremble in my hands.

"Get some rest," I tell her, tucking the blanket tighter around her frail form. Her eyelids flutter closed, the lines of pain softening as she drifts into sleep.

My gaze lingers on her face, etching every line, every contour into memory. The unspoken goodbye hangs in the air, a sorrowful melody only we can hear.

Turning off the light, I step into the hallway, the darkness within me receding like the tide. In its place, there's a growing light—a flame of determination fueled by love and newfound purpose.