Chapter 31 You’re Pregnant Linda

Chapter 31 You’re Pregnant Linda
Linda’s POV

I opened my eyes slowly and everything around me felt unfamiliar.

The steady beeping of machines and the quiet hum of medical equipment told me I was somewhere clinical before I even fully processed where I was. I looked down and confirmed it. I was wearing a patterned blue hospital gown, stiff and shapeless against my skin.

A sharp wave of pain hit me behind my eyes and I tried to raise my hand to press against my forehead but my arm felt like it was made of stone. I managed to lift my head slightly instead and took in the room. A hospital bed. An IV line taped to the back of my hand, a thin clear tube snaking up to a bag of fluid hanging above me.

And then I saw him.

Charles was slumped forward in the chair beside my bed, his head resting on his folded arms near my hand, his firm fingers wrapped loosely around my wrist even in sleep. His black hair fell slightly over his forehead, his breathing slow and steady.

The last thing I remembered was Jessica’s hands shaking me violently and then nothing. Darkness, sudden and complete.

Had I actually fainted?

All my life I had never fainted once. I had always prided myself on being physically strong. It felt impossible and yet here I was.

I tapped him gently and he sprang upright immediately, as though he had never been sleeping at all.

“You’re awake,” he exclaimed, his blue eyes wide with relief.

“What happened? Where am I?” I asked as he helped me sit up carefully, adjusting the pillow behind my back.

“You fainted. Don’t you remember?” he replied gently.

“It’s impossible,” I said.

“Why? You’re a human being,” he assured me with a soft smile.

“I’ve never fainted in my life. I have a strong immune system,” I replied, still trying to make sense of how I had ended up here.

He simply smiled and reached over to brush a loose strand of hair away from my face before settling back into his seat and resuming his hold on my hands as though that was exactly where they belonged.

“How long have I been out?” I asked.

He paused and glanced at his golden wristwatch. “About nine hours,” he replied.

Nine hours. I had been lying here for nine hours and he hadn’t left.

I knew he had a company to run, meetings to attend, a world that demanded his presence constantly. So why was he still here?

“So why are you still here?” I stared at him, my brows pulled together.

“You know why,” he replied, looking almost shy about it.

“I thought you were supposed to leave for work and other—” I was still speaking when he lifted one finger and pressed it gently over my lips.

“Shh. I couldn’t leave you. How would I leave my wife because of a mere company?” he said quietly.

Goosebumps spread across my skin.

His wife. He said it so naturally, like it had always been true.

I couldn’t tell if it was the word itself or the way he chose me over everything else that made something shift so deeply inside me. All I knew was that I didn’t want him to stop saying it. Ever.

A smile broke across my face before I could stop it and I looked down, fidgeting with the hem of my hospital gown.

“I’m really sorry for making you worry,” I said.

“Why would you be sorry over something beyond your control? You did nothing wrong,” he said, then leaned forward slightly and pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead.

I blushed and pressed my lips together trying to contain the warmth spreading through me. The headache that had struck me moments ago dissolved completely, as though his presence alone had chased it away.

Then a knock came at the door.

“I’ll get it,” he said and I nodded slowly, already reluctant to watch him move away from my side.

As he walked toward the door I noticed his phone screen light up on the bedside table. A reminder notification sat at the top but what caught my eye was the notification beneath it.

Ten missed calls from Harvey.

My stomach tightened. Something was wrong. Something he was deliberately keeping from me.

He spent a few seconds at the door speaking in a low voice to whoever was outside, then reappeared with his hands folded behind his back and a look on his face that was trying very hard to be casual.

“Close your eyes,” he said, his voice lifting into something warm and playful.

“Why?” I asked, confused but already smiling despite myself.

“Just close your eyes,” he sang softly.

“Okay, okay,” I said and lowered my lids, though I left one barely open

“Close them tightly. No peeping,” he sang again.

A mischievous smile crept across my face. Defeated, I shut both eyes completely.

I heard his footsteps cross the room toward me and then stop. I felt the warmth of him close to my face, felt his breath just before his lips pressed softly against mine in a kiss so gentle it barely lasted a second.
Then he pulled back.
“Open them now,” he announced.

I opened my eyes and my breath caught.

Sitting directly in front of me was a bouquet so stunning it didn’t look real. Pale pink peonies sat at the center, full and layered like something from a painting, surrounded by soft white roses and delicate sprigs of baby’s breath. Pale lavender wisteria cascaded down the sides and thin green stems of eucalyptus filled in the gaps, giving the whole arrangement a fresh, earthy sweetness. The flowers were wrapped in cream-colored paper tied with a satin ribbon the color of blush and the whole thing smelled like a garden after rain, soft and clean and impossibly soothing.

I felt tears prick my eyes before I could even form a sentence.

“This is so beautiful,” I whispered.

“Not half as beautiful as you are. I almost lost control when you closed your eyes,” he replied.

“You don’t understand how much I love flowers,” I exclaimed and gathered the bouquet into my arms, burying my face gently in the petals. The scent wrapped around me immediately, soft and warm, and every ache in my body seemed to loosen its grip just slightly.

“I’m glad you love it, baby,” he said and my stomach tightened again at that word.

I looked up at him and the tears that had been sitting at the edges of my eyes finally spilled over.

“What’s wrong?” He reached for me immediately, his expression shifting to concern.

But I couldn’t explain it. I just looked at him and let the tears fall.

For twenty-two years of my life I had never experienced anything like this. Growing up, I was always the one among my friends who had no one dying for her, no one showing up, no one choosing her. The little I had known of love before this had been distant and half-hearted and nothing, absolutely nothing, had ever come close to feeling like this.

“Talk to me, baby. What’s up? Did I do something wrong?” His voice was thick with worry.

I shook my head.

“Then why are you crying?” he asked, genuinely confused.

“Maybe it’s the way you call my name. Maybe the way you look at me, because it’s so real and I’ve never…” The words jammed in my throat and refused to come out properly.

He didn’t press me for more. He simply moved onto the bed beside me and pulled me into his chest, wrapping both arms around me firmly. I melted into him completely and sobbed quietly into his shirt, my fingers gripping the fabric.

After a while, when I had calmed myself enough to breathe properly, he ordered food from the hospital’s partnered restaurant. It arrived in neat containers, jollof rice so fragrant the steam alone made my mouth water, paired with grilled chicken that fell off the bone and a side of fried plantain that was perfectly golden at the edges. There was a chilled bottle of juice beside it and a small cup of fruit salad that he insisted I eat first.

We ate together at my bedside and I finished my plate faster than I intended.

“This food is really tasty,” I commended.

“The restaurant is the best in town,” he replied.

“I want more,” I announced.

He stared at me. “You just finished two plates of jollof rice and you’re telling me you want more?”

“Yes. I want more,” I said, completely unapologetic.

“Okay,” he said, already reaching for his phone.

“From the same vendor that sent this one,” I added quickly.

“God, Linda! It’s going to take hours to arrive.”

“I don’t mind waiting,” I replied cheerfully.

He shook his head but made the call anyway, a smile he was trying to suppress pulling at the corner of his mouth.

After the call, he stood and walked to the counter where a brown medical file sat. He picked it up and returned to his seat slowly. Something shifted in his expression as he held it, something careful and deliberate.

“This is your medical report. I think you should look at it,” he said and handed the file over.

I took it from him with fingers that had already begun to tremble without knowing why.

I opened it slowly.

The doctor’s handwriting sat neatly across the page and my eyes moved directly to the line that made my stomach drop completely.

Congratulations. You are six weeks pregnant.

My brows pulled together so deeply I felt the lines form across my forehead. My mouth fell open. I read it again. And again. The words refused to rearrange themselves into something that made more sense.

“It can’t be,” I muttered, turning slowly to Charles.

He was watching me with a smile so wide and so warm it almost undid me completely. He leaned toward me and placed both hands over mine, rubbing them softly.

“You’re pregnant, Linda.”