New York, Mia


    My eyes fluttered open, and the only thing that greeted me was a sea of white. I blinked, disoriented and groggy, as my surroundings slowly came into focus. It was a sterile, hospital room, and I was lying in a bed, connected to various monitoring devices. My heart raced as a rush of confusion washed over me. Where was I, and what had happened?


    Before I could gather my thoughts, I heard a familiar voice that cut through the haze of uncertainty. “Oh my god, you’re awake,” the voice said, filled with relief. I turned my head toward the source and saw Be and Sophia sitting by my side. Their faces were etched with concern and anxiety.


    “Hi,” I managed to croak out, my voice hoarse and weak. “Where am I?”


    Sophia, ever the calming presence, approached me and ced a gentle hand on my forehead. “You’re at the hospital,” she said softly, her eyes searching mine. “You fainted. Are you feeling alright?”


    I attempted to take in a deep breath, the heaviness in my head slowly subsiding. Physically, aside from my tiredness, I felt fine. “I think so,” I replied, my voice gaining a little more strength.


    Be, who was holding my hand, looked at me with a mixture of concern and curiosity. “Sophia’s right,” she said. “The doctor said your blood pressure was really high. Is everything okay? Are you stressing over something? The pregnancy wasn’t nned, and we’ve had our share of unusual experiences during it. Is it bothering you?”


    I let out a heavy sigh. The truth was, it was bothering me. The pregnancy had been a rollercoaster ride of unexpected events, from the stalker’s presence to my father’s threats. While I tried to stay positive and focus on the joy of bringing a child into the world, the constant challenges and dangers had undoubtedly taken their toll.


    “I try to stay positive,” I replied honestly, but it was bing increasingly difficult as the weight of our circumstances continued to press down on me.


    Just then, the doctor entered the room, his expression concerned as he approached my bedside. He scrutinized the monitors and reviewed my charts. “Mrs. Thornton,” he began, addressing me with a professional yetpassionate tone, “your blood pressure was rmingly high, which is why you fainted. Can you tell me if everything is alright? Are you under any unusual stress?”


    I nodded, realizing that I needed to be honest about my concerns. “There are… some unusual circumstances,” I admitted, my voice trembling slightly. “We’ve had some security concerns, and my father’s been making threats. It’s been a lot to handle.”


    The doctor listened attentively, his expression growing more serious as he considered my words. “I understand,” he said, his tone empathetic. “I can see how those circumstances might have caused you stress. It’s crucial to manage your stress during pregnancy, for both your well-being and the baby’s.”


    He exined that they had taken various measures to stabilize my condition and that they would closely monitor me during my stay. He encouraged me to discuss my concerns with a mental health professional and assured me that my well-being was of utmost importance.


    As we sat in the hospital room, engrossed in our conversation about my high blood pressure and the circumstances that had led to my current condition, the door to the room was flung open once more. This time, Kieran, my brother, rushed in, his face etched with deep concern.


    “Is everything alright with her, doctor?” he asked, his voice filled with worry as he hurried over to my bedside. “What happened?”


    The doctor, who had been closely monitoring my condition, spared Kieran a brief, reassuring nce before answering. “High blood pressure,” he replied, his tone calm yet concerned.


    Kieran’s eyes immediately sought mine, his gaze filled with anxiety. “Is it Dad? Did he cause this?” he inquired, his voiceced with anger and protectiveness.N?velDrama.Org holds ? this.


    I shook my head, attempting to alleviate his concerns. “It’s not just Dad,” I exined, my voice quivering. “It’s everything, Kieran. The stalker, Dad’s threats, the unexpected pregnancy-it’s all been a lot to handle.”


    Kieran’s expression softened as he absorbed my words, the protective anger in his eyes giving way to a profound sense of understanding and empathy. “I’m sorry you’ve had to go through all of this,” he said, his voiceced with sympathy.


    In the midst of the medical discussion and family support, the doctor finally addressed my most pressing concern. “The baby is doing fine,” he assured me, a glimmer of hope in his voice. “But your high blood pressure still needs to be monitored. I’d like to keep you in the hospital for a week to ensure your well-being. I also suggest you consult a therapist to help manage your stress.”


    The mere mention of therapy sent shivers down my spine, and I immediately shook my head. “No,” I stated firmly. “No therapist. I’m okay, really.” The thought of therapy was one that I strongly resisted.


    Kieran, who knew my aversion to therapy, backed me up. “She’s not going to see a therapist,” he asserted, his voice reflecting the irritation I often vented to him about this particr subject. I had experienced enough therapy sessions forced upon me in my youth, courtesy of our father’s insistence. I had resented every minute of those encounters, feeling as though I were the one being treated for non-existent issues while my father’s true problems remained unaddressed.


    “I know she’s been through a lot,” Kieran added, looking at the doctor. “But she’s strong, and she’s got a solid support system. We’ll make sure she’s alright.”


    The doctor contemted our responses, recognizing the determination in our voices. “If that’s what you prefer,” he finally conceded, “we’ll respect your wishes. But please, take care of yourself and reach out if you need any help.”


    The doctor, with his attention shifting towards Kieran, seemed eager to discuss my medication and meal n. “Can I speak to you in the office about your wife’s medicine and meal n?” he inquired.


    Kieran chuckled lightly, his usual calm andposed demeanor on full disy. “I’m not her husband, I’m her brother,” he replied, offering a gentle correction.


    The doctor blinked in surprise at the unexpected revtion, and he quickly apologized, realizing his mistake. “Oh, I see. I’m sorry for the confusion. So, who is the husband, then?”


    Just as I was about to respond, a voice from the doorway spoke up, drawing everyone’s attention. “I am the husband.”