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Feigning ignorance regarding the reason for Jenna’s absence at work for a whole week has proven much harder than expected.
I’d prepared myself to lie to cops who would ask questions about her whereabouts and when I last saw her. I’d wondered how I’d move through the hallways knowing everyone is concerned about her.
However, none of that happened. I met no cops, and no one asked questions.
Hartwick, the chief admin at my hospital, strode into the call room dressed in a ridiculous, brightly colored suit with the tag attached to the front lapel. I watched him announce that Jenna’s on a week-long break due to a family emergency. Nausea hit me so viciously that I barely made it to the bathroom in time.
The queasiness and slight headache lingered all day. I told myself it was the strain, the aftermath of Jenna’s disappearance, the constant fear pressing down on my chest. I don’t need to be a doctor to know that my gastrointestinal issues are caused by stress. It’s basic physiology.
I’ve had two days of exhaustion, worsened by the fact that I can’t even sleep. As soon as my shift ended on the second day, I returned to the villa. Marco wasn’t in our quarters because Nico had him on a mission, and I didn’t ask what. In his absence, the space felt too quiet, so I went to the clinic, hoping a few patients trickling in would give me something to focus on.
After an hour of lull, I’m out cold at the clinic desk, my cheek resting against a stack of patient files. I wake to find Sophia hovering over me with her big, round belly. She’s wearing that knowing expression she’s probably perfected through her own share of sleepless nights in this compound.
“You need to see a doctor.” She settles into the chair beside me.
“I am a doctor.”
“A different doctor, then.” Her soft eyes prickle my skin.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.” She covers my hand with hers. “Lucia, I’ve been where you are. I promise you, Jenna will be found and brought back safe. You’ll feel better soon.”
“You don’t know that!” I snap. “And don’t give me bullshit excuses for being in my shoes, because it doesn’t make things better.”
Sophia’s eyes widen at my outburst, and she slowly pulls back. “I just want to help. I’ll leave if you’d rather be alone.”
“No, no.” I shake my head, immediately regretting lashing out.
Jenna’s out there somewhere, and the thought of her in danger means both my body and mind can’t rest. My exhaustion is deeply eroding my patience and calmness, leaving room for my anger to latch onto the only person present.
A shaky breath drags through me. “Sorry…I’m sorry. It’s just that I can’t find her or assist in finding her. All I can do is wait and treat other people’s problems while mine keep piling up. And it’s frustrating.”
“Yeah.” Sophia rests a gentle hand on my shoulder. “I know that feeling.”
“I’m always tired. Every morning, nausea hits without warning. I can barely keep food down. It’s like I’m wading through cement, and I can’t tell if it’s worry for Jenna or fear.” I look at her. “I can’t wait for this to be over.”
She goes quiet, her eyes widening. “Have you considered the possibility…that you might be pregnant?”
That word is a blow that knocks the air from my lungs.
“No… We’ve been careful.” I pause when I hear the uncertainty in my own voice. We were careful in the beginning, but after Naples, after the confession, and after the nights where we grappled for each other like oxygen, protection hasn’t exactly been at the top of our minds.
My doctor’s brain starts counting backward without permission. My last cycle was six weeks ago. Maybe seven. I’d blamed the missed period on fatigue and a body running on fumes, but now I can’t unsee the puzzle slowly coming together.
Still, I shake my head. “I’m sure I’m not pregnant, Sophia.”
“I’m not suggesting you are.” She squeezes my hand. “I’m saying it’s worth investigating. For your peace of mind, if nothing else.”
I nod, my mind racing through timelines, possibilities, and the terrifying weight of “What if?” The travel, the unstable rhythm of this new life, the nights I sought Marco’s comfort without thinking about consequences. Every rational explanation I’ve been hiding behind suddenly seems paper-thin.
Seven weeks is a long enough period, too long when I think of the implications.
As a doctor, I know the signs. They were easier to ignore and bury in in the recesses of my mind under my other millions of worries, but now that I’ve heard from someone else, the symptoms I’ve been explaining away snap into a clear pattern.
I push all of this to the back of my mind because thinking about it means facing decisions I’m not ready for.
Instead, I dive into my duties to distract myself. I complete early shifts at the hospital, travel back to the compound to put in a few hours at the villa’s clinic, and then I spend my nights in Marco’s quarters.
