Chapter 2
Stacy's pov
I woke up suddenly, my heart racing out of nowhere. My eyes flew open and confusion swallowed me whole. Morning light filtered through the car windows, soft and pale, yet everything inside me felt dark and heavy. I realised too fast that I was not in my room. I was not in my bed. I was lying in the back seat of a stranger's car.
And I was not alone.
Strong arms were wrapped around me, holding me close as if I belonged there. Panic rushed through me like cold water. My body stiffened. Shock, fear, and shame crashed over me all at once. I pulled away quickly, almost violently, trying to create space between us.
The man stirred and groaned softly. His eyes opened slowly, and for a second, I froze. They were grey. Almost silver. The same shade as Arnold's eyes.
That alone made my stomach twist painfully.
Warmth lived in those eyes, but it only confused me more. Why did they feel gentle when everything about this moment was wrong? Why did my body remember his touch with heat instead of disgust?
"Hey…" his voice was low and calm. "Good morning."
I sat up, clutching what little clothing remained on me, my fingers trembling as reality sank in.
Shame burned so deeply that my skin felt like it was on fire.
"What's your name?" he asked, his tone almost playful, as if last night had been something sweet. Something to smile about. "I had a great night with you."
A great night.
The words struck me like a slap.
Great?
While my heart was bleeding? While my soul was breaking?
I couldn't even answer him. My eyes burned with tears. I refused to let fall in his presence. I pushed his arm away and turned to gather my clothes properly.
He repeated his words with a smile, as though he truly meant them. As though using me to forget another man was some beautiful moment between us.
My mind screamed at me.
What have you done, Stacy?
What kind of woman sleeps with two men in the same night?
The thought alone made me feel filthy.
Arnold had touched me. Betrayed me. Humiliated me.
And instead of running home to cry, I ran into another man's arms.
A stranger.
A nameless escape.
It felt awful. Disgusting and Unforgivable.
I finally gathered the courage to open the car door and step out. Cold morning air kissed my skin, but it did nothing to cool the storm inside me. I leaned in briefly and whispered my name, only because I didn't want him to keep calling me "hey" like I meant nothing.
"Stacy," I said.
He repeated it slowly, like it was something sweet on his tongue.
I hated that something stirred inside me at the sound.
I turned away immediately and began to walk. Faster. Further. Away from him. Away from the mistake. Away from the shame carried on my own body. I heard him calling my name again, but I only increased my steps. I refused to look back. I refused to let myself get drawn in by another illusion.
I had already lost enough.
I called Hillary and told her to pick me up. My voice trembled so badly that even I could hear how broken I sounded. When she arrived, one look at my face told her everything. My eyes were swollen. My lips were pale. My soul felt like it had been dragged across broken glass.
When we got to my house, Hillary tried to care for me the only way she knew how. She made breakfast. She urged me to bathe. She tried to comfort me with kind words, but none of it erased the weight sitting on my chest.
As I soaked in warm water, my hands shaking against my skin, reality crashed down harder.
I slept with Arnold.
Then I slept with another man.
In the same night.
The truth made me nauseous.
Was this who I had become? A woman who ran from pain into temporary desire? A woman who used her body to silence her heart? I could not even recognize myself. I felt like a stranger inside my own skin.
The worst part was the memory of how my body had responded. The way heat had spread through me. The way I had felt something I had never felt with Arnold. That truth hurt even more. It felt like a betrayal layered on top of betrayal.
I dressed slowly, my movements heavy, and joined Hillary. I tried to eat, but every bite felt like ash in my mouth. My thoughts never stopped screaming at me.
I cared for my family deeply. I carried responsibilities that never gave me the freedom to simply break apart. My parents relied on me. My sister depended on me for school. Every decision I made was supposed to protect them. To honour the life they struggled to give me.
And now here I was, sitting in regret, filthy with shame, carrying a secret that made my chest hurt just to remember.
When Hillary asked about the man, I found myself describing him before I even realised it. His hair. His eyes. His height. His passion. And that scared me. It scared me that part of me still remembered him with warmth.
I hated myself for that.
The thought of seeing Arnold again made my stomach twist violently. Monday felt like a punishment waiting for me. I was expected to walk back into that office. Back under his authority. Back under the eyes of the man who had reduced me to nothing.
Yet I couldn't leave my job. I needed it. Not just for me, but for my family. The weight of those responsibilities kept me trapped in a place that hurt me daily.
*****
Four weeks had passed and I hadn't been myself. The sickness came…
It crept in slowly - Weakness, dizziness. Nausea.
My body felt strange, foreign. I blamed stress. I blamed anxiety. I even found myself relieved, because illness meant I didn't have to face Arnold at the office.
But the vomiting grew worse. My head ached constantly. My world spun.
I could no longer pretend it was nothing.
Hillary took me to the hospital, and as I sat waiting after the tests, my mind returned to that reckless night again.
My breath came in shallow shakes as I stared at the white walls. Every second felt longer than the last. My heart pounded harder with every passing moment.
When the doctor finally entered, his expression was calm. Too calm.
Then he smiled.
"Congratulations," he said warmly. "You are pregnant."
The words hit me like thunder.
Pregnant.
My ears rang. The room tilted. My soul felt like it shattered into pieces.
Pregnant?
How?
By whom?
Arnold…
Or the stranger?