“H-Help! I got stabbed!”
The desperate cry sliced through the quiet hospital halls, freezing me mid-step. My heart pounded, my grip tightening on the clipboard I was holding. That voice—familiar, agonized, desperate.
My stomach twisted. I turned and sprinted toward the source of the sound, my shoes squeaking against the linoleum floor. The cold hospital air felt suffocating as dread clawed at my throat.
And then, I saw him.
My father.
Lying on the cold tiles, his white shirt soaked in blood, a knife embedded deep in his stomach. His face was contorted in pain, sweat dripping down his temples.
“Dad!” My voice cracked as I stumbled toward him, falling to my knees. I reached out, my hands hovering over the wound, unsure whether to press down or pull the knife out.
His trembling fingers grasped my wrist, his grip weak but urgent. “G-Gabbi… Run.” His voice was barely a whisper, but the fear in his eyes was unmistakable.
“No! I won't leave you!” My vision blurred with tears. “Somebody help us!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, my body shaking uncontrollably.
Footsteps pounded against the floor, and soon, a team of nurses and doctors swarmed around us. I was forced back as they lifted him onto a stretcher and rushed him into the emergency room.
I followed, my heart hammering as I watched them try to save him. Every beep of the monitor, every hurried command, every compression on his chest—it all blurred together in a haze of panic and desperation.
Minutes turned into hours. And then, the Doctor walked out, his face grim.
“I’m sorry… We did everything we could.”
My world shattered.
A strangled sob ripped from my throat. I barely registered my legs giving out beneath me as I collapsed onto the hospital bench.
Dead.
My father was dead.
I don’t remember how I finished my shift. I was just… numb. My body moved on autopilot, my mind drowning in grief.
When my shift finally ended, I walked out of the hospital, the night air biting against my skin. The parking lot was nearly empty, the streetlights casting long shadows.
My hands shook as I reached for my car keys, but a strange feeling crept up my spine. The air felt too still.
Then—footsteps.
Slow. Measured.
A shiver crawled down my neck. My heart pounded as I turned—
But before I could react, a cloth pressed against my mouth.
A sickly-sweet scent filled my nostrils. My body jerked in panic, my arms flailing, but my limbs grew weaker with every second. My vision swam. The world tilted.
Then—darkness.
I woke up to the blinding glare of surgical lights. My head pounded, my throat dry and scratchy. I tried to move, but my body felt… off.
Something was wrong.
The room smelled sterile—antiseptic and something else. A deep, gut-wrenching sense of dread coiled in my stomach.
I forced myself to sit up, my limbs sluggish, my mind foggy. And that’s when I saw him.
A doctor.
He stood at the foot of the operating table, scribbling on a clipboard. His face was unreadable, detached.
“What… happened to me?” My voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.
He glanced at me, then calmly removed his gloves. “The procedure was successful.”
Procedure?
A chill ran through me. My fingers gripped the hospital gown I was wearing, realization dawning like a slow, creeping horror.
My private part ached. An unfamiliar soreness throbbed between my legs.
No. No. No.
A scream built in my throat, but no sound came out. My entire body trembled as I forced the words past my lips.
“What did you do to me?”
The doctor didn’t flinch. Didn’t show a shred of remorse. “You’ve been inseminated.”
I couldn’t breathe.
Inseminated.
The word echoed in my skull, pounding against my brain like a cruel, twisted joke.
“No…” My voice broke. “No, no, no!” I tried to move, to fight, but my body was still weak.
The doctor simply turned and walked out, leaving me alone with my nightmare.
Days blurred into weeks.
I was trapped in that place, watched by nurses who never answered my questions. My body felt different. My mind was unraveling.
Then, the nausea started.
Violent, gut-wrenching sickness that sent me crawling to the toilet every morning.
A nurse noticed. She handed me a pregnancy test.
I stared at it, my fingers trembling. My entire body felt ice-cold.
When I saw the result, my stomach dropped.
Positive.
I was pregnant.
Terror gripped me. I didn’t know who had done this to me. I didn’t know what was growing inside me.
I wanted it gone.
Desperation took hold of me, and I tried everything. I slammed my body against the walls. I swallowed pills when no one was looking. I even tried to cut myself open with a piece of broken glass.
Nothing worked.
The baby survived.
I was trapped in a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from.
And so, I decided—there was only one way out.
The rooftop was cold beneath my bare feet. The wind howled, tugging at my thin hospital gown.
I stood at the edge, staring down at the empty pavement below. My heart pounded, my mind screaming at me to just do it.
No more pain. No more nightmares.
I took a deep breath. Then, I stepped forward—
A strong hand yanked me back.
I crashed into a warm chest, my body trembling as arms wrapped around me.
“Don’t,” a deep voice murmured against my ear.
That voice.
My breath hitched as I turned to look at him.
Tyron Carter.
My ex-husband.
He held me tightly, his grip firm, his dark eyes filled with something unreadable.
“I won’t let you do this,” he whispered.
Tears burned down my cheeks. “Why do you care?” I choked out.
His jaw clenched. “Because…” He swallowed hard. “That child… is mine.”
