“My love,” he said softly, “forget him. You know how these street boys are. He probably says the same crazy thing to everybody. You are pregnant, yes. You are emotional, yes. But you are fine. We are fine. And no, you are not aborting anything because of some mad child on the road.”
I wanted to believe him.
I really did.
So I nodded, forced a laugh, and told myself it was nonsense.
But when the lights were off and the room was quiet, the boy’s voice came back.
You are carrying a snake.
That night I barely slept.
And when I did sleep, I dreamed I was standing over a baby’s crib. The blanket inside was moving. I smiled at first, thinking my baby was kicking. But when I pulled the cloth back, something long and dark moved beneath it, coiling slowly. I woke up with my hand gripping my belly and sweat running down my neck.
The next few days were not easy.
At first, I told myself I was just being dramatic. Pregnancy came with nausea, tiredness, mood swings. Every woman knew that.
But mine started feeling wrong.
It wasn’t just morning sickness. It was like my body had become heavy in a strange way. I felt drained all the time. I had headaches. A deep pulling pain came and went in my lower belly. At the mall, I caught myself zoning out in the middle of conversations. Twice, I found myself pressing my palm against my stomach, not in affection, but in fear.
Jordan noticed.
One evening, he sat beside me on the couch and asked, “Do you want us to go to the hospital tomorrow?”
I almost said no. I almost let pride speak for me again.
But before I could answer, my mind flashed back to the boy’s face.
And for the first time, I whispered, “Yes.”
The next morning we went to a clinic we had used before. I tried to appear calm, but I was not calm. My heart was too loud.
The nurse smiled, took my details, and asked routine questions. Everything felt normal until the ultrasound.
The doctor moved the probe across my stomach, frowned, adjusted it, and went quiet.
I looked at his face. “What is it?”
He did not answer immediately.
Jordan sat straighter.
The doctor forced a professional smile, but it did not reach his eyes. “I would like you to do a more detailed scan with a specialist,” he said. “It is probably nothing serious, but I want a clearer picture.”
Probably.
Those kinds of words are never as comforting as doctors think.
