6. Selma

six

Selma

Another wave of nausea hit me, and I sucked in a large gulp of air, leaving my mouth with no space for anything else. The hospital waiting area reeked of antiseptic, bleach, and some other questionable smell of grease and rotten meat. There were more older people than younger ones, and I felt oddly out of place, which was weird because it was a fucking hospital.

The doctor I saw about two hours ago sent me to the lab to conduct a urine and blood test. Now, I was waiting for the test results.

Normally, I would have taken some painkillers and a reasonable amount of rest, but that was exactly the problem—I felt weak but not sick. Like I needed more than just rest. The dizziness had been inconvenient, at most, but at least it was tolerable. It was the nausea and severe fatigue that worried me.

I roamed my eyes subtly around the waiting area, just in case there were any paparazzi around, hoping for a global shot. I could just imagine the headline: "Estranged fashion designer Selma Volkov, diagnosed with life-threatening sickness." I would die. Literally.

"Miss Volkov?" A nurse appeared, her eyes searching the crowd.

I raised my hand, getting to my feet. "That's me."

"The doctor will see you now."

Finally.

I thanked her, heading to the room she'd directed me toward. I was so glad to be out of the waiting area that I almost buckled over in surprise when the nausea resurfaced.

Fuck. I sucked in another breath, as I walked down the hallway.

A young, beautiful brunette came in the room after me. It struck me as odd that this doctor was different from the previous one. She smiled a warm smile that instantly calmed me.

Take that, paparazzi. No doctor would smile at me like that if I had a life-threatening disease. I smiled in response, moving closer to her.

"Miss Volkov." She stood, stretching out her hand to me. "My name is Dr. Caroline Spear, and I'll be your gynecologist today."

I did a double take. Gynecologist?

Regardless, I took her outstretched hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise," she said, gesturing to the lone chair before me. "Please take a seat."

I wondered if this was how other people felt when I spoke to them from behind my small table. I did as she asked, placing my bag on my thighs. Then, I focused my attention on her. She had a file in front of her, which her eyes quickly scanned before raising her head to look at me.

"It says here that you've been experiencing dizzy spells and some nausea?" she asked.

I nodded. "Yes, for a few days now."

She suddenly straightened and leaned forward, intertwining her fingers on the table. "Miss Volkov—"

"Call me Selma, please," I interrupted.

"Of course. Selma, your test results say that you're pregnant."

There was a loud ringing in my ears. Time seemed to stop, and everything else save for the woman sitting in front of me disappeared into the background. My heart sank into my stomach, and I had to hold my breath because the cheeseburger I had for breakfast decided it was time to make its momentous appearance. It took all my strength to keep it down.

I almost laughed, maybe in shock or sheer amusement, I couldn't be sure. But Dr. Spear wasn't smiling anymore. There were no laugh lines on her face, only a passive expression that told me she'd done this so many times that one more made no difference.

"You're wrong," I whispered, my eyes as wide as saucers. It couldn't be. There was no way I was pregnant.

"I understand your shock, Selma, but lab results rarely lie," she reminded me. "And it would explain the dizzy spells and nausea."

"Jesus."

"Have you had unprotected sex in the past month?"

My fingers trembled, and I gripped the edge of the chair until my knuckles turned white.

Ashton.

"Oh, my God." I let out a choked sob, my skin prickling until goosebumps spread. "Oh, God."

Pregnant? My mind was clouded with so many questions.

"Do you need a minute?" Dr. Spear asked sympathetically, causing the tears to fall with the speed of a loose tap.

I nodded, my chest heaving. "Yes, please."

I thought back to that night. That night had been the beginning of ruining everything in my life. I should have never gone there. It was a mistake that was now fucking up my life in brand new ways.

I hadn't been on the pill. My relationship with Alex had ended three years ago. During that time, I'd completely sworn off men and resolved to spend the rest of my life without them. So, a few months after the breakup, I'd stopped taking it.

Shit. At the time, it had seemed insignificant, Ashton spilling his cum inside me, but it was beginning to hit me now how stupid and reckless we'd been.

I wanted to scream. To tear out my hair from its roots. What would I do with a child? I was twenty-seven, and certainly not ready for that kind of responsibility. Especially not now that I was working on my new line.

"How long?" I asked in a low, shaky breath, though I knew the answer.

"About four weeks, according to your hormone levels," Dr. Spear said.

I pressed my eyes shut. Fuck.

This changed everything. Getting rid of the baby was not an option. That was if I lived long enough to actually go through with it. My mother would kill me if I got an abortion. That was, if she didn't kill me for having unprotected sex.

Jesus. What the fuck was I thinking being so reckless?

My horror deepened when the image of Ashton filled my mind. There was no avoiding him now. I hated to admit it, but there was a part of him that would always be in my life.

The next few minutes were spent with me in a haze as Dr. Spear gave me information about my pregnancy. At least, that was what I thought she was doing—I wasn't listening. I was too busy debating if I should tell him or not.

He deserved to know, didn't he? It was his child, after all. And I was keeping it. But that would only keep him in my life forever. Did I want that? Absolutely not. Ashton was annoying as fuck, and the thought of tolerating his excesses till the day I died was scary.

Which left me…where, exactly?

Alone with a baby?

What would I do with it? All my life, all I'd ever wanted to do was design and have people wear my pieces. Fashion and color gave me purpose. There had been no space for anything else. Kids certainly were never in the picture. If I hadn't fallen in love with that piece of shit, Alex, then I probably would've continued my long streak of solitude. Thankfully, now that it was over and I'd learned my lesson, there would be no more stupidity from my end.

But this threatened to put all that to shame. What if I told Ashton, and he wanted to take the baby from me? A plethora of what-ifs went through my mind. With my reputation of toxicity, his chances of winning a case were higher than mine.

He can't be that cruel, can he? I wondered.

Besides, what were the chances that he would even want the shackles of raising a child without its mother? Didn't men usually run away from that kind of responsibility?

My chest felt like it was constricting, and I couldn't breathe. I sucked in enough air, my breathing coming out in short, loud rasps.

"Oh, my God, I'm going to have a baby." My hand shot to my throat as if tugging at the skin of my neck would aid my breathing.

"Calm down, Selma." Dr. Spear was instantly at my side, patting my back softly. "It's absolutely normal to have a baby when one has unprotected sex."

Is she mocking me? Why does it feel like she's mocking me?

"I can't believe how careless I was," I sighed weakly.

"Don't beat yourself up. It happens."

I tried to laugh, but it was more of a scoff. "Tell me about it."

"Is the problem the father?" she asked.

Usually, I wouldn't disclose any personal information to a stranger, but Dr. Spear made it so easy to talk to her, and it felt like she would actually listen and not judge me. Besides, she was a gynecologist. I doubted that there was much I could say that she hadn't already heard before.

"He's an asshole," I muttered.

"Hmm." She made a sound at the back of her throat, moving around the table to sit on her chair. "In what sense? Is he abusive?"

I shook my head. Somehow, I just knew that Ashton would never hurt me. "No. I mean that he's basically a dick."

She chuckled. "Well, most men usually are. You just have to find the one you can tolerate."

The exact opposite of Ashton. When I met her gaze, I realized with a little smile what she had been trying—and successfully managed—to do: distract me.

"Thank you," I whispered.

"You're welcome. What are you going to do?"

"I'm keeping it."

Dr. Spear nodded. "And will you tell him?"

I hesitated. "I don't know."

It was better to keep Ashton out of it. I knew it wasn't fair to him as the father; I would want to know if the roles were reversed. But it was better this way—for all of us. We would work on my line, and when that was done, we would both go our separate ways, with him none the wiser.

Dr. Spear prescribed some supplements for me and gave me a checkup date to return. I thanked her and promptly left, calling it a day and going straight home. After texting Rose to tell her I wouldn't be coming into the office today—I needed time before dealing with Ashton again—I threw my phone into my bag and walked home. My driver had dropped me off earlier, but I'd given him the day off with instructions to drive my car back to my place.

As I stepped out of the hospital, the crisp air of uncertainty embraced me, mingling with the weight of the news of my pregnancy. My mind whirled with conflicting emotions, and I struggled to grapple with the revelation that I had a piece of Ashton within me.

I had no idea how I felt about the news. I'd never thought about having kids before, and certainly never as a single mother. Sex with Alex had always been protected. We'd used condoms for the first few months of our relationship until I'd started taking birth control.

In hindsight, my parents played a huge role in shaping that perspective. My mother had been a single mother, and while my father had been in the picture—at least at first—he'd been absent most of the time. I saw how she'd struggled for years just to put me through school. I saw how she worked morning and night, resulting in me being frequently alone.

Fashion had been my best friend and, eventually, my entire life. When my mother recognized my passion for it, she worked even harder to put me through an expensive fashion school. I appreciated her and would for the rest of my life, but she'd had to be strong after being thrust alone into a situation that two irresponsible people had come together to orchestrate.

In the beginning, I thought my father had been doing his best. He'd show up with apologies for broken promises, after which he'd make new promises. I believed him for a while. Sometimes, for days, he'd go AWOL. Then days transformed into weeks and weeks into months, and hope turned into longing. Eventually, I stopped hoping. I realized very early on as a child that grief was akin to an amputation, leaving an ache that echoed through the depths of my being. Yet, hope, like incurable hemophilia, persisted despite the relentless bleeding it brought.

My mother had been strong; I didn't want to be. Unlike most people, I didn't think there was anything wrong with being weak. You just had to know when to pick your battles.

Besides, who was to say Ashton would be happy to hear the news? What if he recoiled in shock, or worse, denied any connection to the life growing within me? Hadn't he been the one to accuse me of sleeping with him to seduce him into working for me? He was a dick, really.

I took a deep breath as I rounded a corner. This baby was mine, for better or worse, and the choice was mine to make. Ashton was better off without the baggage.

I told myself that this was me saving him from being tied down to a woman he barely knew, but deep down, I knew better.