ʀᴇᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴛᴀʀꜱ

32

It’s been a month since I returned to Oakwood, a month since I tried to stitch together the pieces of my life in a town that was as much a part of my past as the memories I had left behind. I’d managed to finish my post-graduation online, securing a job that kept me busy enough to silence the thoughts that threatened to consume me, if only for a few hours each day. But lately, something hadn’t felt right. The sickness that had taken hold of me over the past few days was more than just the typical flu—it was persistent, unsettling, and it left me feeling hollowed out, like a shell of the person I used to be.

Every morning had become a battle. The nausea would start before the sun even touched the horizon, a wave of sickness that curled in my stomach and forced me to the bathroom, where I would cling to the cold porcelain, vomiting until there was nothing left but dry heaves and exhaustion. It wasn’t just the sickness, though. There were the cravings, strange and unpredictable—foods I hadn’t thought of in years suddenly became all I could think about. And then there were the moments of overwhelming sadness, a heaviness that seemed to settle over me like a dark cloud, threatening to suffocate me.

I hadn’t heard from Olivia or George in weeks. No texts, no calls, nothing. I’d sent messages—too many, probably—hoping for some sort of connection, some reassurance that they were still out there, that they hadn’t forgotten me. But the silence that met me in return was deafening, a void that only deepened my sense of isolation. A deep wave of sadness washed over me as I stared at my phone, the last message to Olivia still unread. I didn’t understand why she wasn’t responding, why George hadn’t reached out. Had I done something wrong? Had the distance between us grown too vast to bridge?

There was a soft knock at the door, pulling me from the whirlwind of thoughts in my head. It’s probably Louis, my overly polite French tenant turned accidental friend. I smiled at the thought of him—always so proper, except for that one time when he tried to impress me with his supposedly flawless cooking skills. He’d sworn up and down about how he could make the perfect French crepes, only for the smoke alarm to go off because he left the stove on high. The entire kitchen had smelled like burnt sugar for days, and we ended up ordering pizza instead. We’d laughed until we cried, and ever since then, I couldn’t stop calling him “French Boi,” much to his playful annoyance.

I opened the door to find him standing there with that familiar, easy smile.

"Let's go! I called, but of course, you didn’t pick up, so here I am," he said, rolling his eyes dramatically.

"Come on, you had to walk a whole five steps just to knock," I teased back. "No big deal, *French Boi*."

He sighed with exaggerated exasperation. "Whatever, let’s go. We’re going to be late for your doctor’s appointment."

I grabbed my coat and followed him to the car, my stomach knotting with nerves as my thoughts spiraled. What if I had something serious? What if this was more than just exhaustion? What if… I was dying?

Louis must have sensed my anxiety because as soon as we were in the car, he glanced over at me. "You're not dying, Emily. Stop thinking like that."

"Yeah, yeah," I muttered with a weak smile. "I’m not going to leave you that easily, *French Boi*."

He just rolled his eyes again, but I could see the concern lingering behind his teasing smirk.

At the hospital, we checked in, and I told the doctor everything—about the nausea, the cravings, and the exhaustion. She nodded thoughtfully before recommending a series of tests. I tried to joke about giving half my blood to science as they drew the samples, but my nerves wouldn’t settle. Louis waited patiently with me, throwing occasional jokes my way to keep my mind from spiraling.

But even as he comforted me, my thoughts raced, imagining every possible outcome.
We drove in silence for a while, the tension in the car thick enough to cut with a knife. My mind was racing with too many thoughts—what ifs, maybes, worst-case scenarios that made my head spin. By the time we reached the hospital, my hands were trembling, and I felt like I was going to be sick again.

Inside, I went through the motions, registering at the front desk, filling out the necessary paperwork, and then waiting, my nerves fraying with each passing second. Louis sat beside me, his presence a steadying force, though I could tell he was worried too. When the nurse finally called my name, I almost jumped out of my seat, my heart pounding in my chest.

The doctor was kind, her voice calm and reassuring as I explained my symptoms—how I’d been feeling sick, how I’d been craving strange foods, how the sadness seemed to cling to me like a second skin. She nodded thoughtfully, asking a few more questions before suggesting that I have some tests done. Blood work, she said, just to rule out anything serious.

I tried to joke about it, but the truth was, I felt like I was giving away half my blood as the needle pricked my skin, drawing vial after vial. By the time it was over, I was exhausted, both physically and emotionally, and the waiting room felt like it was closing in on me. Louis stayed close, his hand resting lightly on my shoulder, his presence a balm to my frayed nerves.

“Whatever happens,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper, “we’ll deal with it. Together.”

I nodded, though my mind was still spinning with thoughts I couldn’t quite pin down. I wanted to believe him, to take comfort in his words, but the fear gnawed at me, a persistent whisper in the back of my mind that I couldn’t silence.

We waited in tense silence, the minutes dragging by like hours, until finally, the nurse called me back in. My heart was in my throat as I followed her, Louis by my side, into the doctor’s office. The doctor’s expression was neutral, professional, but there was something in her eyes that made my stomach drop.

“Emily,” she began, her tone gentle, “we’ve got the results back from your tests.”

I held my breath, my mind screaming with possibilities, my heart pounding so loud I was sure she could hear it.

The doctor’s next words were clear, calm, but they shattered my world in an instant: “Emily, you’re pregnant.”