The heaviness in my chest wasn't just in my mind anymore. It had grown, settled deep inside me like a weight I couldn't shake.
When the nausea wouldn't stop and the fatigue stretched across every waking moment, I knew I couldn't ignore it.
I found a small clinic near the edge of town — quiet, private, the kind of place where no one asked too many questions.
The waiting room smelled of antiseptic and old magazines. I sat in a stiff plastic chair, hands curled tightly in my lap, the hum of the air conditioner loud enough to drown out my thoughts.
When my name was called, my heart jumped in my throat.
The doctor who greeted me was younger than I expected, with kind eyes that softened the sterile room.
"Tell me what's going on," he said, gesturing toward a chair.
I swallowed the lump in my throat, my voice barely a whisper. "I've been feeling… strange. Tired all the time. Nauseous. I don't know why."
He nodded, typing quietly on his tablet. "How long have you felt this way?"
"Weeks," I said. "Maybe longer."
He smiled gently. "Let's run some tests. I want to be thorough.
After blood work and a brief ultrasound, I sat back down, heart pounding.
When he returned, the doctor's smile was softer now — almost hesitant.
"Lila," he said carefully, "you're pregnant."
The words hit me like a storm.
Pregnant.
Me.
I blinked, trying to process the truth.
"I… I don't understand," I whispered.
He explained gently — early stages, the signs I'd been feeling, how the body reacts. He said it was normal to feel overwhelmed.
And then he added, "You'll need care. Support. Someone to be there for you."
My eyes stung with tears I refused to let fall.
He must've seen the fear beneath my calm.
"Is something wrong?" he asked quietly.
"I'm alone," I admitted. "I had to leave. No one knows where I am."
He nodded, respect clear in his gaze. "You're stronger than you know."
His name was Dr. Otis — and from the moment he offered a warm smile, I felt a flicker of something I hadn't dared hope for: safety.
In that sterile, sunlit room, everything changed.
I wasn't just running anymore.
I was carrying a new life.
And I had to figure out how to protect it — even if it meant protecting myself.