Chapter 25

It smelled the same.

The very distinct scent of bleach and ‘white’ was everywhere in the small clinic ward attached to the hospital. Abigail sat patiently in the reception room, waiting for the nurse to call her name. The anticipation was maddening. She was unconscious the last time she entered this hospital, so Abigail had no idea that the wait was so frustrating.

Her stomachache grew by the second, and she had to switch her tampon thirty minutes ago from the heavy flow, though she tried not to focus on it. What she thought about, however, was each second that passed when she wasn’t closer to the examination room. How hard can it be to say—

“Abigail?”

“Yes? I’m here.” Abigail jolted from her seat, instantly regretting it when her stomach flared in pain. She winced before following the short nurse towards a broad, oak door.

“Doctor Danvers will see you now.” The nurse smiled reassuringly, almost like routine but genuine nonetheless. Abigail mumbled thanks before pushing the door open where Doctor Danvers waited by the exam table, cleaning equipment.

“Goodnight, Doctor Danvers. You called for Abigail?” Abigail asked as she inched closer to him.

He spun at her voice and offered her a small smile. “Yes, Ms Turner. Have a seat, please.”

Doctor Danvers gestured to the table as he grabbed his stethoscope and clipboard. After thirty minutes of waiting and finally being able to see the doctor, Abigail’s nerves skyrocketed as he approached her. She would finally learn what was wrong with her and why her stomach ached like a swarm of bees abiding in her abdomen.

“What seems to be the issue?” he asked, leaning against the table across from her. He wore a gentle smile on his face with a few strands of grey in his brown hair. His chiselled jaw and brooding eyes could have any woman swooning, but the single golden band on his finger showed that he’d already found his match. Still, Doctor Danvers seemed nice enough, and Abigail knew that she could trust him—had to trust him to touch her.

“My um . . . My stomach. It hurts, and I’ve been b-b-bleeding. At first, I thought it was my period, but I haven’t had a period this awful in years.”

“I see,” Doctor Danvers hummed as he pushed himself from the table. “May I?” He reached forward to touch her stomach, and Abigail resisted the urge to flinch away. She nodded and leaned into the doctor’s touch with a deep breath and a slimy gulp.

He massaged her stomach for a few seconds as the silence gnawed at her brain. The ache that increased with his touch made it difficult for her to stay put, but by the look on his face, Abigail knew she had to let him do what he needed to.

“Hhmm. Tell me, Abigail, what’s your diet like?”

Abigail gulped. “Well, I mostly eat oatmeal, pancakes and sandwiches for breakfast. I usually have a salad for lunch and something heavy for dinner.”

“Do you drink a lot?”

“No. . .” She paused. “Well, I tend to have a glass of wine every night with dinner. You see, my boyfriend—I mean ex . . . He owns a wine business, so I had an endless supply.”

“I see.” He finally pulled away, and Abigail wasn’t sure if she wanted to be relieved or worried.

Doctor Danvers leaned against the table across from her again, staring at her with his smile now gone. Abigail fidgeted recklessly in her spot but found that the moving didn’t help the pain.

“Abigail, I’m going to be blunt with you here. It’s kind of my job to be blunt yet gentle.” He chuckled, but Abigail didn’t share the sentiment. Clearing his throat, Doctor Danvers spoke again. “Abigail, I’m going to ask a few questions. But you might find them a bit uncomfortable.”

“Do whatever you need.”

He nodded. “Okay, well, when was your last period?”

Abigail’s eyes trailed past the doctor towards the calendar hanging from the door with a frown on her lips. “I don’t remember. I’d say about a month and a half ago.”

“And this bleeding, you said you don’t think it’s your period?”

She shrugged. “I mean, at first, I thought so. Then the bleeding got heavier, and the cramps got worse. I . . . I—a friend told me to see a doctor.”

“That’s a good friend,” he smiled, “and sex: have you been sexually active?”

Abigail froze. “Um . . . Well, yes, I guess.” She shuffled in her chair but regretted it instantly.

“Abigail, I hate to suspect it, but there’s a high chance what you’re experiencing right now is a miscarriage.”

“What?” In the split of a second, Abigail felt numb. Out of all the things she thought about, this was not one of them.

Worst-case scenario, Abigail suspected that it might’ve been some sort of infection or fibroids. But a baby?

She was . . . pregnant?

“I could be wrong,” Doctor Danvers continued. “But just to be sure, you’ll need to do an ultrasound and probably some tests if, by chance, the embryo didn’t make it to your uterus. We’d have to get the tissue from your body before it causes any issues—Abigail? Are you okay?”

Except she wasn’t. Because her head was spinning at a hundred miles per hour, and her chest heaved with breaths as her chest constricted.

This was real. This was actually happening, and all when she had no one left.

“Look, I know this can be scary,” Doctor Danvers dropped the formality from his tone and reached for Abigail’s hand. “My wife . . . We . . . I was actually in business school when I met my wife. Things got crazy, and she got pregnant. In her second trimester, we lost the baby. It ruined her.”

Abigail swiped away her tears as she met the doctor’s beady eyes. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I know it is not easy, Abigail. That experience changed my life. And well, here I am now.” He sighed. “Look, I haven’t had many visits like this, but when I do, I take them very seriously. I assure you, Abigail, I’ll make this as easy for you as possible.”

“T-thank you,” she managed through hiccups. “I just don’t know how this was possible.”

Doctor Danvers heaved out a sigh as he patted her leg reassuringly. “I know. But, let’s get you prepped for an ultrasound. Hopefully, we won’t have to do too many tests. Just to get the tissue out of you before it causes any more issues.”

“Baby,” Abigail whispered.

“Sorry?”

“That’s the second time you said tissue.” She met his eyes, though his form was blurry from her tears. “But it’s a baby—my baby, and its. . .” Her sentence trailed as another sob racked her body. At this point, the stomachache felt like nothing compared to the agony in her heart.

Doctor Danvers watched her with sympathy. He didn’t know the pain she was going through, but he understood those tears quite well. Sighing, he unfolded a wheelchair and helped her onto it. He had to lift her on it since Abigail refused to move—or perhaps she simply couldn’t find the will to do so.

He wheeled her out of the room and into another. People in scrubs and coats glimpsed at her in their own form of pity, but Abigail’s eyes remained trained on the white, tiled floor until Doctor Danvers wheeled her into another room.

He stood at the door and talked to a nurse before leaving, and she nodded before joining Abigail on the other side of the room.

“Hi there, I’m Victoria. I know it’s late, so I’m only going to prep you for your ultrasound. We’ll keep you here overnight just in case and continue with whatever other procedures are necessary. You don’t have to worry about . . .” Victoria’s voice became background noise as Abigail’s thought zeroed on nothing but a single person.

Theodore.

How would he have reacted to this news? What would he have done? Surely, he’d move her from this clinic and into the most prestigious hospital in town. Hell, he probably would’ve demanded that the doctors bring the baby back to life.

Would he? Did he even want to be a father? Would he be relieved that Abigail had a miscarriage?

“Ms Turner?” Victoria’s voice snapped her back to reality and away from her deceitful ex-boyfriend. Abigail tried not to think of what he was doing at this very moment with Cleo.

He seemed upset with her arrival, but who’s to tell that Cleo didn’t have a few tricks up her sleeve to coax him?

Abigail’s stomach churned at the thought as she focused on whatever the middle-aged nurse asked.

“Sorry, what?”

“Is there anyone who you’d like to call? A friend, boyfriend, maybe?”

Abigail’s thoughts lingered again as she only thought of only two names: Theodore and Najay—both of which she no longer had.

Her lips quivered again as she shook her head. “No. I have no one. I’m alone.”

Even if she called Seymour, what could he do? And this wasn’t something in particular that she’d like her boss to know, even if they recently declared friendship.

There was always Camille and some acquaintances from school. But it would be highly inappropriate to call them at this ungodly hour of the night.

Victoria offered Abigail a piece of tissue as she sat beside her. “Tell you what; I’ll stay with you throughout it all. And trust me, everything will go smoothly. You have the best looking after you.”

Abigail wiped her eyes as she met Victoria’s. “Is Doctor Danvers the best here?”

“Well, I was talking about myself, but he’s pretty great too.” Victoria’s attempt at humour worked as Abigail giggled a bit, utterly grateful that, yet again, a complete stranger was looking out for her.

Humankind really isn’t that bad after all.

“Theodore Adams! Come out here right this instant!”

Theodore perked in his chair at the female’s voice but instantly rolled his eyes when he realised it wasn’t the person he wanted to see.

Huffing, he dropped his pen and slammed his laptop shut as he exited his office towards the lounge room. And there she was: hands akimbo and eyebrows perfectly arched as if she freaking owned the place.

“What are you doing here, Cleo?” he asked, his voice much softer than he intended. Theodore had no energy for another fight with her.

“What do you mean, Theo? I gave you two weeks to come to your senses! Two! Now it’s just getting ridiculous.”

“Cleo, just leave, please.” Theodore pinched the bridge of his nose as a headache bud at the front of his head. “I’ve made myself perfectly clear, and I don’t intend to tell you again.”

Cleo laughed—one of those laughs that told him that this conversation was anything but over.

“Do you know how far I came from to save you from—”

“You ruined my fucking like, Cleo! And the only reason I haven’t ruined yours is that I respect your father.” Theodore pointed a stern finger at her. “I told you a million times that I am done with you. Our relationship? It’s over. But you couldn’t accept that, so you came in and ruined the only good thing in my life.”

“Only good thing?” She gawked. “You mean to tell me that hooker means more than your business.”

“I swear to God, if you don’t watch your mouth,” he growled through gritted teeth. “You will not speak of her as less than you because she’s so much better than you’ll ever be.”

“So where is she then, Theo? If she’s so wonderful, where is your perfect little muse?”

Theodore wanted more than anything else to have Abigail with him again. But it had been two torturous weeks, and he hadn’t spoken to her or heard from her. Knowledge of her whereabouts always came to nought. It’s like she just fell from the face of the earth. And she changed her number too.

The image of her face the night she left was permanently imprinted in his mind, and the words she said . . .

‘I wish you had thought this through before I fell in love with you.’

He squeezed his eyes tight at the thought. Her voice rang in his head even now and haunted his dreams.

“Theo, we’ve been through too much to—”

“Cleo,” Theodore growled, his eyes still shut. “I’m going to tell you one last time. Leave me the fuck alone.”

“But we were so close and—”

“We had an agreement. You were my girlfriend only because I had no interest or time for love. But I didn’t love you, not the way you want me to.” He finally opened his eyes, and the hurt on her face was evident.

Still, Theodore couldn’t find the will to justify or make her feel better. As far as he’s concerned, she’s the reason Abigail left.

‘Is she? Is she really? Or was it your own secrets and lack of judgement that drove Abigail away?’ The voice in his head taunted, enhancing his headache even more.

As much as he hated it, the voice was right. If only he had been honest with both women. He didn’t quite tell Cleo why he broke up with her so suddenly over text, and he never even touched the subject with Abigail. There was bound to be a crossfire that would burn either him, Abigail, or them both.

If they had done things differently. Maybe Cleo would’ve gotten the closure she needed and Abigail the truth she deserved. Practically, Theodore didn’t cheat on Abigail because the second he started calling her his girlfriend, he ended things with Cleo.

But evidently, Cleo’s return and reaction, not to mention the entire scene she caused, telling Abigail that she knew she was a stripper, made it all seem different.

However, what hurts the most was that Abigail thought Theodore didn’t see her fit for him—that she’d question his loyalties to her and view her as less than the perfection she really is. He didn’t care about whether she was rich or not.

If only she knew the half of it.

“I don’t deserve this, Theo. You promised me that you’d marry me!” Cleo was on the brink of tears. Theodore could tell by the way her hands shook.

“I didn’t promise you any of that. I merely mentioned it once, Cleo. Look, I know things could’ve gone differently, but it’s over. I wish I had given you a better explanation at first, but this is how it is. My heart is . . . it’s hers now, Bonny.”

Cleo shivered at the nickname Theodore gave her all those years ago. She had mistakenly said ‘bonny’ instead of ‘bunny’, and he teased her about it all day until it became a nickname.

“But you . . . You could’ve done things differently too. You came in here like you own my home—like you own me and try to undermine the woman I love because of your fears and insecurities. That was low, Cleo, even for you.”

“But Theo—”

“Just please, go.” Theodore held his head as the headache worsened. “And don’t come back.”

“Theodore—”

“Go!”

Cleo shrunk back as a single tear finally fell from her eye, and without another word, she ran to the elevator, leaving Theodore yet again alone.

Heaving a sigh, Theodore fell into his armchair and buried his face in his hand.

As much as he knew he hurt Cleo, all he thought about was Abigail. Being angry at Cleo was enough to rein on his own self-loathing, but how long will it last? How long until he notices that that was just Cleo being Cleo, and he really is the one in the wrong here?

There were no other ways he could reach Abigail. She only had one email that she used for everything, and even that she wouldn’t reply from. Her social media were mostly dormant as she used none of them. The service provider claimed they had no clue what she changed her number to, no matter how large of a bribe Theodore offered.

He was once again left with nothing but thoughts and regrets.

The elevator rang again, indicating that someone had entered.

“I said go away, Cleo,” he mumbled through his hand, but he didn’t receive the discourteous response he’d expected from Cleo.

“Theodore, where on heaven and earth or, God forbid, hell, is Abigail?” This wasn’t Cleo for sure. In fact, the last time he heard this voice was the same night he lost Abigail.

He snapped his head in the direction of the entrance, and indeed, there she was, staring at him with fiery eyes and a firm hand on her hip.

“Najay.”