My laughter echoed in the room, but the dashing young man and the doctor were fazed. Staring at them stealing glances at each other made me realize that they might be telling the truth.
"So I'm pregnant?" I muttered with a quavering voice as a rush of shock rushed through my veins.
'I've never imagined that I could get pregnant. Was this a blessing? Or a consolement?'
My eyes instantly amassed tears as I recalled eight years' travesty from the neighbors and even my very own husband.
"Papa, this is a miracle.." I erupted into tears with my fist clenched on the hospital sheets. My father always yearned for a grandchild, but I couldn't give him one.
I bent my head and swaddled myself with my arms from shoulder to shoulder. After a while, I slowly hoisted my head and ogled at the men, focused on each other.
"Has my husband been here?" Though I asked, I was sure he would ever visit me.
"He was here." The doctor's voice made me savage my lips.
"Did he, umm, take care of my father's funeral?" I asked.
The doctor turned to look at the dashing young man before giving me a gaze, he tried to force a smile, but he flunked as he slowly wobbled his head. 'My husband left my father in the morgue.'
"I'm sorry."
I scoffed at the doctor's words as a tear prickled my cheeks and dropped on my lips. Unconsciously, I clenched my eyes shut, and I recalled the look in my husband's eyes when I fell from the rooftop.
"Was my husband informed that I'm pregnant?"
"He wasn't."
"But why?" I puckered my brows, and my gaze instantly drifted to the fancy man. For some reason, he looked familiar. Maybe it wasn't my first time seeing him the other day.
"Something happened while you on a coma." The doctor walked closer.
"I was in a coma?"
"Yes, for two weeks." The doctor's gaze traveled to the man's again.
I couldn't believe that I was in a coma. Everything felt like yesterday to me.
"We made a mistake regarding our patients."
I couldn't understand why the doctor was telling me that.
"I'm not sure what to do when that information."
I was trying so hard to comprehend that I'd been lying on the bed for about two weeks, and the doctor was telling me about some negligence the hospital had made?
"How soon can I leave here? I need to concoct my father's funeral." I tried to curb all the anger for Peter and the pain from my father's death. But I guess I failed.
"Sorry for your loss." The man said, and he slowly walked to the door. He veered around and gazed at me. I felt like he was there to tell me something other than a farce. But what could he have to say to me?
"You will need to do some physiotherapy, so we can know if you have fully recovered."
"Okay."
....
I got discharged after a month. No one came to take me home. After giving Peter about twenty missed calls, I finally went outside, strutting by the bus station as I waited for the bus. There was a torrent, and I wasn't with any sweater.
The shivering from the frigid wind and splashes of cold water that percolated on me only added to my grieving heart. What would my life have been like if I had taken that scholarship?
I entered the bus when it came about thirty minutes after waiting. My coat was soggy. When I got to the house, I hurriedly tried to open the door, but my keys won't work.
"Did he change the locks?"
I kept jabbing the door. At this time, I was thoroughly drenched. There wasn't any bulwark in front of the house.
"Peter, Peter, Peter." I jabbed the door so hard, screeching under the storm, but he didn't open it.
I saw the glint from the window, there was someone inside, but before I hurried to the window, the lights were switched off.
'He knew I'm out in the cold.'
I slowly turned around. I've never felt this deserted. There was no need to hide from the storm, and nowhere I could hide.
I walked down the lonely street, entitling the cold rain to spatter on my body.
I got to the express and then slowly turned to look at must street. For the first time, I regretted my decision eight years ago.
There was no taxi, no bus, not even private cars. I walked to my father's house, which happens to be on the third street.
I had a hot bath and wore my father's clothes. I took out the hospital report. I glanced through it and discovered that I was two months pregnant.
"Two months?"
I took out my phone and called the hospital. I can't be two months pregnant, and it only means that the baby isn't for Peter. If I'm not pregnant for Peter, who am I pregnant for?