The quiet hum of the hospital monitors was the only sound in the sterile room. My skin still burned where Kendrick had touched me,no, claimed me, and though he was gone, his presence still haunted the air like cigarette smoke in closed velvet curtains.
My legs ached from how he'd used them. My wrists were bruised from the restraints he insisted were for "our safety." And my heart? My heart was shredded silk.
I lay curled on the bed, hugging my knees to my chest. I hadn't moved in hours, too afraid of what I might feel, too ashamed of what I already did.
And then it hit me.
The sickness.
Sudden and ruthless, it surged from my gut like a scream I hadn't let out. I barely leaned over the side of the bed before I heaved into the small metal waste bin. My throat burned, my whole body shuddering.
"Bekky?" A knock. Elise's voice, soft but alert. The door creaked open. She stepped in, her eyes immediately falling on me, hunched and pale, with trembling fingers clutching the edge of the bed.
She didn't ask more questions. Just rushed to me and held my hair back like she'd done it a thousand times. There was something in her hands, kindness, maybe, or mercy.
When I was done, I collapsed back onto the pillow, my chest rising and falling rapidly. "I don't… I feel like I'm dying," I whispered.
"You're not dying," Elise said gently, brushing a damp strand of hair from my face. "But you're clearly not okay. I'm going to run some quick tests,just to be sure."
I nodded, unable to speak, as she moved with practiced hands. Blood pressure. Temperature. Then something more — a small sample kit, a digital test. Her brows furrowed as she moved. There was tension in the air. Like she already knew something.
Time passed slowly. Or maybe it passed all at once, like light flickering through a cracked door. When she returned with the results, her face had changed.
Softer. Sadder.
She knelt beside me and took my hand.
"Bekky…" Her voice was almost maternal. "You're pregnant. About three weeks."
The words didn't make sense.
They echoed like a gunshot underwater. They rang, over and over again.
I blinked.
She didn't flinch. She just let me sit there, eyes wide, mouth slightly parted.
Three weeks.
It lined up.
My stomach flipped. I felt the nausea again, but not from the pregnancy.
From him.
"Oh God…" My hand went to my belly, instinctively. "I'm— I'm carrying his…"
My voice cracked.
Tears came fast. Big, heavy ones that dropped like warm rain onto my hospital gown. I didn't sob. I couldn't. It was too deep for that. It was grief. Shame. Horror. All rolled into a single moment of realization.
"I've been doomed," I whispered. "This is it. My life is over."
Elise squeezed my hand. "Don't say that."
I looked up at her through blurry lashes. "How can I not? I'm carrying the child of a monster."
She shook her head. "You're carrying your child. And you are not your trauma, Bekky."
My throat closed. I didn't know what to say.
She let go only to grab a tissue and dab my face, her touch gentle. "I know it's hard to see right now. But you're stronger than you think."
A long silence fell between us.
Then I asked the question I hadn't wanted to voice.
"Did you know? About him?"
Elise's eyes darted away.
So she had.
Her lips pressed into a thin line before she finally spoke. "I wasn't going to say anything unless you wanted to know. But yes. I knew Kendrick… before."
I leaned forward, stunned. "Before what?"
"Before he became this man," she said carefully. "I worked in psych trauma units before transferring to private care. Kendrick Hale was admitted under emergency hold when he was seventeen. His father was a powerful man. But behind closed doors…"
She trailed off, but her meaning was clear.
Abuse. Darkness. Pain.
I swallowed hard.
"He was… tortured. Abused. Trained to dominate or be dominated. He ran from it, but the damage, it rooted in him."
That should've made me feel something.
Pity, maybe. Sympathy.
But all I felt was a strange, tight ache. Because I could understand broken people.
And I hated that I could understand him.
"I'm not excusing him," Elise added quickly, sensing my conflict. "What he did to you , what he's still doing, is not love. It's control. It's power. But I believe somewhere in him… the part that was human once… still flickers."
I leaned back into the pillows, letting her words sink in.
I didn't want to believe there was anything inside Kendrick worth saving.
Because if there was… what did that say about me?
Elise's voice softened again. "Do you want to keep the baby?"
I stared at the ceiling.
Do I?
I imagined a tiny heartbeat. Fingers curling around mine. A child with ice-gray eyes, a cruel jawline softened by innocence. A child born from something twisted… but maybe, just maybe, given a chance at something pure.
"I don't know," I whispered honestly. "I don't know anything anymore."
That night, I couldn't sleep.
I lay awake, Elise gone, the lights dimmed low. And as I touched my belly, still flat, still unassuming, I cried again.
Not because I was broken.
But because, for the first time, I wasn't alone...