CHAPTER 197

CHAPTER 196
LILY POV

Time during pregnancy had a cruel way of stretching and shrinking simultaneously. Some weeks felt eternal, filled with exhaustion, swollen feet, and sleepless nights imagining what her little face would look like. Others flew by, as if the world was in a hurry to bring me to the moment when I would finally hold my daughter in my arms.

I was pregnant with Faith. And that name had become my personal mantra. Faith. Faith that I would make it. Faith that my father and Samantha would continue to stand by my side. Faith that Samuel would one day know she existed without the world falling apart.

New Year’s arrived quietly. We didn’t throw a big party. It was just me, my dad, Samantha, and a small dinner at home. At midnight, I stepped out onto the porch, wrapped in a loose coat that barely hid my six-month belly. Light snow was falling, covering the garden like a white veil. I closed my eyes and made a wish, whispering into the cold wind:

“May she come healthy. May I be a good mother. May we manage to be happy, even if it’s hard.”

I didn’t wish for Samuel. Not in that moment. It hurt too much to think about him.

The following months were filled with intense studying. I threw myself into the GED as if my life depended on it — and in a way, it did. I spent entire days in my room, surrounded by study guides, practice tests, and notes. Samantha brought me snacks and tea. My father checked my progress every night, proud but with eyes full of concern. I barely left the house. The world outside felt too dangerous for me and for Faith.

The day of the test arrived like a marathon I had trained for months. More than seven hours of exams — math, language, science, social studies. I sat in the cold room at the testing center, my belly already visible under my loose shirt, feeling Faith move as if she knew how important that moment was.

“Hold on, little one. Mommy’s trying.”

I wrote, solved, read, and marked answers until my fingers hurt. When I left, I was exhausted but carried a strange sense of victory.

Two weeks later, the notification came on my phone.

“Congratulations! You have passed the GED Test.”

I stared at the screen for a long time, silent tears rolling down my face. Samantha and my father hugged me tightly. It was one of the few moments I allowed myself to feel pure joy. I had done it. Despite everything. Despite the pregnancy, the humiliation at school, the secret about Samuel. I had done it.

Winter was almost over. The snow was melting, revealing the first shy sprouts in the garden. I looked out my bedroom window and felt that maybe — just maybe — everything would be okay. Faith moved more, kicking strongly, as if reminding me she was there, alive, real.

I ran my hands over my belly several times a day, feeling the movements grow stronger. Sometimes I would talk to her for hours. I told her about her father. How handsome, talented, and complicated he was. How I loved and hated him at the same time. How I feared she would inherit his eyes and remind me every day of what I had lost. I told her stories, sang softly, and promised I would be a good mother.

Until one routine checkup, everything changed.

The doctor stayed silent longer than usual. She frowned, moving the transducer slowly, repeating the scan from different angles. Her smile gradually faded.

“Lily… there’s something I need to tell you calmly.”

My heart raced. Samantha squeezed my hand tightly, her fingers cold.

“What is it, doctor?” I asked, my voice already trembling.

The doctor took a deep breath and adjusted the image on the screen. She pointed to a specific area.

“The placenta is showing signs of insufficiency. It’s not functioning as it should. The blood flow to the baby is compromised. This means Faith isn’t receiving all the nutrients and oxygen she needs at the ideal rate. It’s not critical yet, but it’s concerning. The risks of continuing the pregnancy increase every day — preeclampsia, intrauterine growth restriction, even spontaneous premature labor.”

I felt the world tilt. Faith moved, as if sensing my anguish.

“But… I’m eight months along. Everything was fine until now. The previous exams were great. I feel okay. I eat well, I rest…”

The doctor nodded, patient but firm.

“I know. Sometimes this happens suddenly, especially in teenage pregnancies. The mother’s body is still developing, and the placenta may not keep up with the baby’s growth. The risks of continuing are greater than the risks of delivering early. The baby is well developed for eight months, but we need to act with caution. I recommend a scheduled C-section. Next week.”

I blinked, my chest tight.

“Next week? That’s… too soon. She still had many weeks to go.”

The doctor looked at me with genuine empathy.

“I understand the fear. But statistically, at eight months with proper medical support, the chances of serious complications are much lower than if we wait. If the placenta continues to fail, we could face an emergency. I prefer to prevent rather than treat.”

Samantha, beside me, went pale. She squeezed my hand harder, her voice coming out low:

“Doctor, isn’t there any other option? Some medication, strict bed rest…”

The doctor shook her head.

“Unfortunately, no. Bed rest might help a little, but it won’t solve the placental issue. The best thing is to deliver early. We’ll schedule it for next week. That gives us time to prepare everything — anesthesia, the team, neonatal ICU if needed.”

I felt the tears rising. Faith kicked hard, as if protesting. I caressed my belly, trying to calm her, but my own body was shaking.

“I… I don’t know if I can do this. I thought I’d have more time. I thought…”

The doctor placed a gentle hand on my shoulder.

“I know it’s scary. But you’re not alone. We’ll guide you through every step. And the baby has excellent chances. She’s strong, just like you.”

I nodded, but inside I felt something was wrong. It wasn’t panic. It was a quiet, insistent intuition, as if my body and mind knew this decision wasn’t just medical. There was something more. Something I couldn’t name, but that left me uneasy.

In the car on the way home, I stayed silent, hand over my belly. Faith moved, as if feeling my distress. I stroked her slowly, trying to calm her. Trying to calm myself.

“I don’t understand,” I murmured. “The whole pregnancy was fine. Why now?”

Samantha drove with her eyes fixed on the road, but her voice came out soft, almost forced:

“Sometimes the body does this. It’s better to be safe, Lily. The doctor knows what she’s doing. A C-section now is safer.”

I nodded, but inside I hesitated. I felt like I was giving up control over something that should be mine. That should be ours.

Samantha squeezed my hand at the traffic light.

“Everything will be okay. I promise.”

I smiled at her, but the smile didn’t reach my eyes.

Faith kicked hard, as if she disagreed.

And for the first time in months, I felt a deep fear that the worst was still to come.