Chapter 23 MAKE ME PREGNANG

Chapter 23 MAKE ME PREGNANG
Atarah Klyte

CONCIOUSNESS came back to me slowly—like fragments of light breaking through an endless void.

My eyelids fluttered open, heavy and reluctant, as though even the simple act of seeing required effort. The first thing that greeted me was a stark, unfamiliar white ceiling—cold, sterile, and painfully bright.

For a few seconds, I simply stared at it, unmoving.

Then the scent reached me.

Antiseptic. Clean. Clinical.

A hospital.

Reality settled over me like a weight pressing against my chest.

I shifted my gaze, scanning the room with quiet desperation, silently hoping, perhaps foolishly—that someone would be there. That I wasn’t alone.

But the room remained empty.

Silent. Unforgivingly so. I’m alone. Why do I expect?

I tried to move. Pain erupted instantly, sharp and merciless, tearing through my body like a violent reminder that I was, in fact, still alive.

A strained sound escaped my lips as I winced, my fingers gripping the thin hospital sheets.

Slowly, my eyes dropped to my arms.

Bruises. Scratches. Darkened marks blooming across my skin like evidence of something I wished I could forget.

My chest was tightly wrapped in bandages, restricting my breathing, while a dull ache pulsed beneath it. My hand trembled as I raised it to my head—and there it was.

Bandages. A clear IV line was attached to my arm, the steady drip of fluid marking the quiet passage of time.

Despite the pain, I forced myself upright, every movement deliberate, every breath shallow.

Questions flooded my mind all at once.

Who brought me here?

What happened after I lost consciousness?

My sister…

My niece…

My eyes shut tightly as memories crashed into me without warning, shouting, anger, the sickening sight of blood—

Tears slipped out, uninvited, uncontrollable.

The door opened.

Startled, I quickly wiped my face, forcing composure I didn’t feel.

A woman entered.

She looked to be in her fifties, her presence gentle yet grounding. Her morena skin carried warmth, her slightly curled hair touched with faint strands of gray. There was something about her—something maternal—that made the sterile room feel a little less cold.

She held fruits and flowers in her hands.

“Oh, thank goodness… you’re awake, hija,” she said, relief evident in her voice. “Wait, I’ll call the doctor.”

Before I could respond, she set her things down and hurried out.

Was she… the one who saved me?

Moments later, the door opened again, and this time a doctor and a nurse entered with her.

I remained quiet as they examined me—checking, observing, murmuring clinical notes that blurred together in my mind.

“She’s stable, but still not in good condition,” the doctor said. “Her wounds are still fresh. It’s good that she’s conscious now, but she’ll need further tests. A nurse will come later to clean her injuries.”

And just like that, they were gone.

Leaving me with her. She stepped closer, gently taking my hand in hers.

Her touch was warm.

Comforting.

“How are you feeling, hija?” she asked softly.

“I’m… okay,” I replied, though the word felt like a lie even as I said it. “Were you the one who brought me here?”

She nodded.

“My husband and I found you on the road. You were unconscious… covered in blood.” Her voice softened further. “You had already lost so much when we brought you here. You were in critical condition.”

My breath caught.

“You’ve been asleep for more than 2 days and a half.”

My eyes widened in disbelief.

“What?” I whispered.

She nodded gently.

“We didn’t know who to contact. We waited for you to wake up.”

I lowered my gaze.

Of course.

There was no one to call.

“They… haven’t come?” I asked quietly.

She shook her head.

“We considered informing the authorities, but we decided to wait.”

A lump formed in my throat.

“Thank you… truly,” I said, my voice trembling as I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around her. “You saved me.”

She embraced me without hesitation, her hand gently stroking my hair.

“It’s nothing, daughter” she murmured. “I’m a mother too. I know what it feels like to lose a child…”

There was pain in her voice.

“I lost one before,” she continued quietly. “And it’s a kind of pain that never truly leaves you.”

“I’m… sorry,” I whispered.

She smiled faintly.

“It’s alright. I’m Fe, by the way. And you?”

I hesitated.

“…Atarah Klyte Dela Veja.”

I paused.

“Please… don’t inform my family,” I added softly. “They’re… angry with me. They don’t care.”

She gently cupped my cheeks, forcing me to meet her eyes.

“Daughter,” she said, her voice firm yet kind, “no matter what happens, they are still your family. Anger fades. Love doesn’t.”

I forced a small, fragile smile.

“They’re busy,” I murmured. “My sister… she’s in the hospital too. I don’t want to add to their burdens. What matters is… I survived.”

She looked at me as though she could see straight through my words.

“Do you know why God gave you a second chance?” she asked.

I stayed silent.

“It’s because your heart is still heavy,” she continued gently. “Filled with pain, with anger, with wounds that haven’t healed. He’s giving you time—to let go, to forgive. Because when your time truly comes, your heart must be at peace.”

Her words settled deep within me.

“I’m trying,” I admitted, my voice breaking. “But I can’t.”

“Then don’t rush,” she said with a soft smile. “Healing doesn’t happen overnight.”

She embraced me again.

And this time, I didn’t hold back.

It was the kind of hug I had been searching for all my life—warm, patient, unconditional.

“Can I call you… Nanay Fe?” I whispered.