31. The Impossible
Chapter 31
The Impossible
Lila
Three Weeks later
I sit at my desk, trying to focus on the computer screen through eyes that feel as heavy as lead. I’ve been feeling that way a lot these past few days. I think it’s everything that’s been going on in my life finally catching up with me. I’m probably coming down with the flu for real this time. Maybe it’s the universe’s karma for me pretending to have it before, or maybe my body is giving up on me for grinding it into the ground.
I’ve overworked myself these past few weeks, doing the work of two people because I refuse to see Cole or ask him for any help finalizing the ball. The last time I went to his office, it was obvious that we are unable to be around each other without something more than I’m ready for happening again, and as much as I wish that I could just throw caution to the wind, I can’t.
The truth is I’m terrified.
I’m terrified about this intense need to always have him around.
I’m terrified about how my entire being reacts to just merely laying eyes on him.
I’m terrified about how I want to make sure that my scent lingers on him so every other woman knows that he’s mine.
I’m terrified about the mind-blowing sex that nothing could have prepared me for, and for how he’s ruined me for every other man.
I’m terrified about how I know with every fiber of my being that nothing that has happened in my life so far can hurt me as much as this man can.
So I had to force myself to stop seeing him. He is my weakness, and the only way I know to save myself from any more heartbreak is to stay as far away from him as I possibly can.
That also means I can’t work with him anymore. The ball is only two weeks away now, and we’ve already worked on most of the key elements of the event together. This far into the preparations, I don’t need Cole’s help to finish it.
Everything is on track and coming along nicely. He has done enough, and if I’m honest, this ball wouldn’t be what it is now if it weren’t for him. At first, I was skeptical about working with him, but in the end, he turned out to be the greatest asset I could’ve gotten for this project. I can’t deny we made a great team. It would’ve been easier to have him here with me now, but we’ve both proven that we cannot be trusted around each other, so this is what has to be done.
I haven’t answered a single one of his calls since I left his office three weeks ago. Not responding to his calls and messages has been one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, but I’ve held firm. I may still be pulling out my phone every few minutes to stare at his gorgeous face on my screen, but at least I haven’t broken. I’m in a fight for my life battling this addiction to him.
I reach for my phone to stare at his picture for the thousandth time today when a sharp pain ricochets through my skull.
“Oh my God,” I mutter, grabbing tightly onto the table in front of me, convulsing in pain. “This damn migraine.” It’s always my telltale sign when I’m coming down with something.
I clutch at my stomach, suddenly getting hit with a strong wave of nausea. I bolt out of my seat, making it just in time to empty the contents of my stomach into the toilet. I’ve barely even had anything to eat all day, because I haven’t been able to keep anything down. It’s been like this for a few days, and I’m completely drained. I sit on my bathroom floor, breathing hard, hair sticking to my sweaty face. One look at the full-length mirror that covers one wall of my bathroom confirms everything I feel.
My skin is pale, like it hasn’t seen the outdoors in years. My lips are dry and cracking. The circles under my eyes are so dark I could pass for a raccoon. I thought it would’ve gotten better by now, but instead this flu seems to be getting worse by the day. I can’t afford to be sick right now; the ball is right around the corner and there are still things to get done. It’s probably time to get this checked out.
I splash some cold water onto my face, brush my teeth and hair, and head out of the house.
I’ve been avoiding Dr. Vincent. I know it’s silly, but I’m just not ready to deal with the pity that I’m inevitably going to see in his eyes. Someday soon, but not today. Instead, I opt to get checked out by another doctor. It’s only the flu anyway. I just need him to prescribe me something to make me feel better. I refuse to be sick on a night I’ve spent months planning for.
“Mrs. Smith?” the new doctor I’m visiting, Dr. Gerald, calls out to me, jerking my attention back to him. He sits across from me, reading through the folder that has my name on it.
“Uh, it’s Miss, actually,” I correct softly.
“Oh, sorry. So you said you’ve been experiencing nausea, headaches, and dizziness?” he asks.
“Yes. All my telltale signs of a flu, but this one seems to be especially bad. Can you just give something to help, especially with the nausea?” I ask hopefully.
“I don’t think so, Ms. Smith,” the doctor says.
“What do you mean?” I ask, brows drawn tightly together.
“Given the types of symptoms you’ve been displaying, I ran a series of tests to determine what the cause of it could be, and I have the results right here,” he says, slipping an envelope across the table to me.
“Yeah, I have the flu. It’s normal for me to—” I start, but he cuts me off.
“You don’t have the flu, Ms. Smith.”
I stare at him puzzled. What does he mean I don’t have the flu? I definitely have something.
“Ms. Smith, you’re pregnant.”
My heart seems to skip ten beats, everything suddenly falling silent. The silence turns into a loud buzzing in my ears as the blood courses loudly through my veins.
“Wh—what?” I whisper, unable to blink, move, or even breathe.
There’s no way I heard that right. There’s no way I—I’m so sick my mind is playing tricks on me.
“What are you—what do you—” I stutter, unable to string together a full sentence.
“The symptoms you mentioned are common with the flu, but they’re also common with pregnancy, so I ran a pregnancy test, and it came back positive. Your symptoms are unusually strong this early into the pregnancy, but you’re one of the special cases where…”
It’s as If I’m outside of my body looking in. I can hear the words, but I can’t make sense of them. He’s not a very good doctor, is he? An infertile woman cannot get pregnant. Is this some cruel, inhumane joke?
“I don’t understand, doctor. How can I—how am I pregnant?” I ask, mouth hanging open and eyes staring up at him in disbelief.
“Well, typically, it happens when a man and a woman—”
“No, no! This isn’t funny. I’m very serious right now. Please don’t—if this is some kind of twisted joke, please just stop it right now, because I can’t handle this. I…I just can’t,” I whisper, a sob breaking out of me.
His own eyes mirror my shock and confusion. He genuinely doesn’t seem to know what is going on.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to upset you. In fact, I thought you were going to be happy with the news,” he explains, suddenly looking very uncomfortable.
Could he be serious? Could this really be happening to me?
My heart is slamming so hard against my chest that I worry it might break a rib. Just stringing my words together is a struggle as I look for answers to the most important question I’ve ever had to ask.
“But the doctor said I—I don’t understand. Are you sure?” I ask, the tiniest fraction of hope starting to bubble up in my chest. I’ve never hoped so desperately for something to be true.
“Yes. I already ran the test twice, as is customary with the policies of—”
“Run it again. Run it five times if that’s what it takes for you to confirm that it’s true,” I beg, reaching forward to clutch his hand in my ice cold, trembling ones.
“Ma’am—” he starts to protest, but I don’t give him a chance to finish his sentence.
“Please,” I whimper, tears streaming down my face. “You have no idea what this means for me. I just need you to confirm that it’s true. Please.”
He stares at me for a moment longer, his eyes softening at my clear distress.
“Okay, but you can expect the same results. You, ma’am, are very pregnant, and no number of tests is going to change that. But I’ll run them again, just to prove it to you.” He gives me a small smile, getting up from his seat and disappearing behind the curtain that leads to the lab area.
“Thank you,” I mutter to his retreating figure. I sit there, unable to do anything but breathe and pray. It seems impossible to believe that there’s any chance that this could be real, but just in case, I pray harder than I ever have in my life, promising anything in return if this could be true.
My head snaps up, eyes wide as saucers as the doctor comes back into the room.
“What did I tell you?” Dr. Gerald says triumphantly, slapping down another folded piece of paper in front of me. “You, Ms. Lila Smith, are approximately three weeks pregnant.”