ONCE BETRAYED: TWICE RECLAIMED

The clinic had the scent of disinfectant and something slightly metallic, causing my stomach to churn even more. Ruth was seated next to me in the waiting area, her arms folded and her expression unreadable, yet I could feel her observing me from the side of her gaze. 

As the nurse announced my name, I sensed my legs tremble while I rose, yet Ruth pushed me ahead. "You'll be okay." "Proceed." 

Within the room, the physician, a middle-aged individual with gentle eyes, posed several inquiries prior to conducting some examinations. I struggled to focus, my thoughts racing with anxiety. *What if they saw something? My enhanced perceptions? My distinctive recovery?* 

However, upon his return with a clipboard, he appeared non-suspicious. In place of that, he grinned kindly. 

"Congratulations," he remarked, his voice slicing through the tightness in my chest. "You're expecting a baby." 

The term struck me like a bolt of lightning. Pregnant. I gazed at him, incapable of articulating a clear reply. Pregnant? 

The return to the restaurant was quiet. Ruth remained silent, her face giving away nothing, as I found myself caught in my own storm of thoughts. Upon our arrival, I took her aside, my voice shaking. 

"I… I'm pregnant," I admitted, my voice scarcely rising above a whisper. 

Ruth nodded, her expression easing ever so slightly. "I suspected that." 

She didn't inquire for specifics, didn't want to know who the father was or how it occurred, and for that, I appreciated her. I wasn't prepared to reveal how a brief encounter with a stranger had put me in this situation—or how I hardly recalled his features. 

The following morning, I went downstairs, prepared to begin my regular routine, when Ruth halted me in the corridor. 

"Return to bed," she said sharply, dismissing me. 

"What did you say?" I inquired, with a scowl. "Reasons?" "I'm okay." 

"You're not okay. You're expecting a baby, and I can't have you fainting during lunch service. "If you wish to continue attracting customers, I require you to be in perfect shape." 

I stared at her, surprised. She wasn't particularly discreet, yet I could see she showed concern in her own rough manner. "Thanks, Ruth," I murmured gently. 

"Don't let me regret it," she said, already turning away. 

Having some unexpected free time, I dedicated the day to mopping the floors upstairs in an effort to clear my mind. How had my life descended into such chaos? I had shifted from envisioning myself in charge of my pack to cleaning dishes and mopping floors in a dilapidated bar. And now… I was expecting. 

I focused on him—the unknown person who hadn't even lingered to bid farewell. He hadn't shown enough kindness to pay the bill, much less think about the aftermath of our evening together. 

Fury surged within me, but it swiftly dissolved into weeping. I dropped to the ground, my mop clanging next to me as I wept. How was I going to accomplish this? How can I bring up a child by myself, without support, with no one to rely on? 

However, the following morning, while I was getting dressed, my hands grazed my stomach. For the first time, I permitted myself to consider beyond the anguish and terror. This kid didn't request to exist. It wasn't their responsibility. Perhaps… perhaps this might be a fresh start. 

I softly stroked my belly, a slight smile emerging amid the turmoil within. "We will solve this," I murmured. "Jointly." 

As I headed downstairs, Ruth was anticipating my arrival in her regular place. "Are you feeling any better?" she inquired, maintaining a neutral tone while her stare was piercing. 

I agreed with a nod. "I'm okay." 

She folded her arms. "Great." "What are your intentions?" 

I inhaled deeply. "I'm choosing to keep the baby." 

Ruth nodded once more, as though she had already anticipated my reply. "You can continue working in the kitchen." It's not as demanding, but if you're really fatigued, don't strain yourself. "Simply consider it done for today." 

The warmth in her tone, despite its roughness, caused my throat to constrict. "Thanks, Ruth." "I… I'm unsure of how to repay you." 

"Don't begin," she whispered, gesturing me away. "Simply perform your duties." 

Later that night, when the team came together for dinner, Cindy took me aside with a familiar grin. "Are you going to keep it?" 

"Yes," I replied, my tone steady yet gentle. 

"Great," she replied, her eyes sparkling. "That deserves a celebration." 

I didn't give it much thought until the following day, when the employees surprised me with a small celebration after closing. The eating space was adorned with streamers crafted from ripped napkins, and someone had assembled a cake using leftover muffins. 

"Greetings to the family, tiny one!" Cindy announced, lifting a glass of juice in a playful toast. 

The rest applauded, and for the first time in weeks, I experienced a warmth I hadn't believed could exist. These individuals—they weren't my group, but they were something else. 

While I sat there, chuckling at their humor and sensing their encouragement, I put a hand on my belly and grinned. Maybe this child truly marked the beginning of a new existence, where I might discover strength not through a group, but within myself—and in the surprising family I had discovered here. 

Pregnancy wasn't what I expected it to be. The idealized radiance individuals mentioned? Falsehoods. 

It wasn't pretty. It was tiring. Everything ached—my back, my legs, and even my chest. There were days I found it impossible to rise from bed, unable to eat anything, and struggling to think clearly without tears filling my eyes. 

Initially, I struggled with it, encouraging myself to continue working in the kitchen. However, it was evident to all, particularly Ruth, that I was exhausting myself. 

One morning, she discovered me leaning against the counter, battling to remain upright while mixing batter. My hands shook so much that the whisk fell and clanged against the floor. 

"That's sufficient," she snapped, surprising me. 

I leaned down to grab the whisk, attempting to dismiss her. "I'm okay." "Just a bit fatigued—" 

"No, that's it for you," she declared, pulling the bowl back. "You won't work another day until you take some time to rest." 

"Please, Ruth." My voice broke with urgency. "I must not lose this job." "I don't have any other place to go." 

She slitted her eyes, her voice becoming a touch gentler. "You're staying right here, Amelia." However, your well-being is the priority. "You're not helpful to me if you're half-alive." 

I nodded as tears filled my eyes. "Thanks," I murmured, even though the words seemed empty. I wished to believe her, to have faith in her kindness, but I understood from experience that kindness was fleeting. 

With my savings depleted and my pay swiftly vanishing into medical expenses, I was barely getting by. Every trip to the clinic resulted in a new prescription or an additional test, and each one took away a bit of what I had left. 

The sole thing anchoring me was the life developing within me. I would place my hands on my stomach, sensing the subtle movement and reminding myself that I wasn't completely alone. "One day, it will all come to an end," I murmured to myself in the silence of my room. "We don't require anyone—neither a man nor your father." "We'll be perfectly okay." 

I frequently echoed the phrases, believing that saying them repeatedly would bring them to reality. 

One night, Cindy appeared in my room carrying a plate of food. She set it on the nightstand and folded her arms, observing me with a discerning gaze. 

"You've hardly eaten anything today," she remarked. 

"I'm not hungry," I whispered, although the reality was more complex. Every morsel I attempted to consume returned almost immediately. 

Cindy wouldn't tolerate it. "That's not right, Amelia." "You must visit the doctor once more." 

"Not at all," I replied, nodding my head. "I'm doing well." 

She knelt before me, her expression becoming gentler. "Amelia, you aren't okay." I can perceive it, and you are aware of it as well. "Kindly allow me to escort you." 

I looked at her for a prolonged period, the worry in her gaze breaking down my defenses. Ultimately, I exhaled and agreed. "Alright." 

The clinic felt chillier than I recalled, with its walls antiseptic and uninviting. Dr. Hawthorne welcomed me with his typical composed manner, but as the checkup progressed, his look became more and more worried. 

After what seemed like hours, he placed his clipboard down and faced me, his brow knitted. "Amelia, your pregnancy is… different." 

"Out of the ordinary?" My belly twisted. "What are you trying to say?" 

"There are irregularities we don't completely grasp," he stated cautiously. "The reactions of your body and the symptoms you're feeling do not match those of a normal pregnancy." 

Panic gripped my chest. "What is the implication for the baby?" 

He paused, his eyes unwavering yet brimming with compassion. "We require additional information to draw any conclusions.In particular, we must conduct tests on the father to identify any potential genetic factors present. 

The room whirled around, and I clutched the side of the exam table to regain my balance. "Was there testing done on the father?" 

"Indeed," he replied softly. "If we can examine his medical history and conduct blood tests, it might assist us in grasping the situation and determining a treatment." 

I gazed at him, the impact of his words overwhelming me. "I... I have no idea where he is." 

Dr. Hawthorne's forehead creased even more. "Is there any method for reaching out to him?" "Is there any information available?" 

I shook my head, my voice trembling. "Negative." "I don't really know what his complete name is." 

The sorrow in his gaze made my stomach churn. "I get it," he replied gently. "Yet if there's a method to locate him, it might change everything—for you and the infant." 

We returned to the restaurant in silence. Cindy refrained from asking questions, and I appreciated that. My mind was a tempest, every thought more disordered than the one before. 

Upon our arrival, I went to my room, curling up on the bed with my arms clutching my stomach. The tears started to flow gradually, then suddenly all together. 

"I'm sorry," I murmured to the tiny being developing within me. "I believed I was capable of accomplishing this." "I believed we didn't require him." 

However, the reality was that I had no clue on how to locate Alexander. I hardly knew him—a passing visage, a name uttered in a fog of urgency. How could I locate a man I hadn't seen since the day he vanished? 

For the first time since discovering my pregnancy, the delicate hope I had been holding onto shattered, replacing it with nothing but fear and doubt. 

I leaned my forehead onto my knees, my tears soaking into the material of my dress. The room was quiet except for my weeping, and for the first time, I felt totally, profoundly alone.