Chapter <b>555 </b>


    Pregnant.


    That damn word keeps reying in my head like a bad orchestra at the start of a horror film.


    Why?


    Why now?


    I thought I was finally done with Noah. That I’d never have to deal with or see him. That what happened a


    month ago was a one–time mistake I’d never have to face again. So, what the hell is this now?


    Why me?


    “Is there some kind of mistake?” I ask, my voice trembling, clinging to hope like a lifeline.


    Maybe they switched the samples, or they confused the reports. These kinds of things happen. Hospitals


    mix things up all the time, right? It has to be that. There’s just no way I’m pregnant with Noah freaking


    Woods‘ baby.


    The doctor flips through the report in his hands and looks at me gently. “No mistake here… You’re


    pregnant, Sierra.”


    And just like that, whatever strength I had left seeps out of me. I sink back into the pillows, my body heavy, my vision unfocused.


    Everything around me blurs.


    My eyes stare nkly at a spot on Dr. Tom’s chest, not really seeing anything. It’s like everything disappears and the only thing that remains is the weight currently suffocating me to death.


    This is the worst possible news I could get right now.


    I know babies are supposed to be a blessing, but only when they’re nned. When they’re born into love. When you have them with someone who wants to build a life with you.


    Not like this.


    Not with him<b>. </b>


    Not with a man who can barely look at me without feeling disgust.


    This isn’t a blessing. It’s a disaster waiting to happen. Not only because the baby’s father hates my guts, but also because I didn’t n on having kids. At least not this soon.


    “I was on the pill,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “I’ve been on it since I was a teenager because of my hormonal issues–my cycle’s always been irregr.”


    It’s never failed me before.


    So why now?


    Why this time? The one time I needed it to work, it betrayed me?


    Life really is a bitch. Or maybe… maybe this is karma. Payback for sleeping with my dead friend’s


    husband. Because honestly–what the actual hell is this?


    “I think I’m gonna just, uh… step out. Give you and the doc some space,” Benji says awkwardly<b>, </b>practically


    tripping over his own feet as he rushes for the door.


    I barely register him leaving. I’m lost in my thoughts and the horror and cruelty of the situation I’m


    currently in.


    This can’t be happening.


    I repeat the words over and over again. Praying. Hoping that it’s a twisted sick joke. Hoping that it’s just a


    bad dream and I’m going to wake up any second now.


    “Sierra?”


    I look up at Doctor Tom’s gentle voice. His expression is calm and kind. It only makes the ache worse.


    “You okay<b>?</b>”


    I release a shaky sigh. “No. How can I be? I’ve been so careful. I don’t miss my doses. I take them every day like clockwork. So, what went wrong?”


    “You do know contraceptives aren’t one hundred percent foolproof, right?” he says, his tone patient.


    I don’t nod. Because honestly? Yes, I did know that, but I always believed that they’d never fail. I trusted them too much. I relied on them <i>too </i>much. I thought if I did everything right, I’d be safe.


    Apparently, I was wrong to assume things simply because I followed the instructions to the letter.


    “Some medications can reduce their effectiveness,” he continues gently. “Certain antibiotics, especially the stronger kinds, can interfere with the pill.”


    “But I looked that up,” I say quickly, desperate for something to make this make sense. “Everything I read said that was just a myth.”


    “Technically, it is. Formon antibiotics, that’s true. But there are exceptions. Moreplex antibiotics can absolutely disrupt birth control–like rifamycin or rifampicin.”


    My stomach drops, and everything inside me tightens painfully.


    “Given things, I’m inclined to take a guess and say you were probably on either rifamycin or rifampicin.”


    “Rifampicin,” I murmur.


    He raises an eyebrow. “Tuberculosis?”


    I nod slowly. “Yeah. I actually finished my six–month treatment about a month ago.<i>” </i>


    Right before… that night.


    I got TB during one of our research trips. The conditions were rough–tent living, open exposure. It wasn’t the cleanest environment, and none of my team got sick, so the doctors thought I might’ve caught it from


    one of the locals.


    The minute I was diagnosed, I was ced in istion until I was well enough to be moved and they were sure it was under control and I couldn’t transmit it to any of my team members.


    I spent weeks alone, scared and coughing up my lungs, wondering if I’d even make it home. There were days I thought I’d die in that hospital bed, far from everyone I loved


    But I survived. I made it back. And now this?


    “With medications like rifampicin, additional contraceptives are usually rmended,<i>” </i>Dr. Tom


    exins softly. “Without them, the birth control pill’s effectiveness drops drastically. That’s likely what


    happened.”


    Of course.


    Another thing I didn’t know.


    Another curveball I couldn’t have prepared for.


    I couldn’t have used backup protection–I wasn’t even nning to sleep with anyone. I sure as hell didn’t


    expect Noah.


    It’s wild how a series of random, unfortunate events led to this moment.


    Pregnant.


    Dr. Tom watches me carefully. “From your reaction, I’m guessing this wasn’t nned. That being said, I want you to know<i>… </i>you have options<b>.</b>”


    My breath stills<b>. </b>


    “I’m personally pro–life,” he adds, “but I also believe in informed choices. You’re still in the early stages of the pregnancy. If this isn’t something you want… it can be taken care of.”


    He doesn’t need to spell it out. The offer sits between us, heavy and undeniable.


    A way out.


    I could end it before anyone finds out. No one would ever have to know<b>–</b>not even Noah. Benji might be


    aware, but I could swear him to secrecy.


    Just like that, it would all go away. The shame, the consequences, the fear.


    No questions. No raised eyebrows. No child to raise alone.


    My eyes drift down to myp.


    I stare at my hands like they hold the answer.


    It would be so easy. Just one appointment. No more worries. No more reminders. It would solve


    everything.


    But is that really what I want?


    Would I ever forgive myself?


    “Take your time,” Dr. Tom says quietly. “You don’t have to decide anything today.<b>” </b>


    I nod, slowly. “O–okay.”


    baby-