SHATTERED DREAMS

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

The following day, I woke up with an uneasy feeling in my stomach. The discomfort I had been pushing aside for weeks was now making itself known in a way that I couldn’t ignore. As I tried to get ready for work, the pain in my lower abdomen throbbed with each movement, but I forced myself through the routine anyway. I couldn’t afford to miss today’s meeting, not with the big bosses waiting to review the company’s finances.

I kept telling myself it was just stress or maybe something I ate, and that once I got into the flow of the day, it would pass. The pain would subside—at least, that’s what I hoped.

When I arrived at the office, I found Aphiwe already at her desk, typing away. She looked up as I walked in, her usual friendly smile lighting up her face.

“Good morning, Hlelo!” she greeted cheerfully. “I’ve got everything ready for your meeting with the board. I’ll just print out the final reports and grab you some water.”

“Thanks, Aphiwe,” I said, my voice strained as I tried to mask the pain. “I really appreciate it.”

Aphiwe paused for a moment, her eyebrows knitting together in concern. “Are you feeling okay? You look a bit pale.”

I forced a smile, waving her off. “I’m fine, just a little tired. It’s nothing.”

She didn’t seem convinced, but she nodded anyway, hurrying off to finish preparing for the meeting. I sat down at my desk, pressing a hand to my stomach as the pain twisted inside me. It was sharper now, but I couldn’t afford to be distracted. Not today.

Minutes later, Aphiwe returned, handing me the printed reports. “Here you go. Let me know if you need anything else.”

I thanked her again, trying to focus on the task at hand. As I made my way to the meeting room, I felt the dull ache deepen, radiating through my body. I swallowed hard, pushing through it. The meeting was important, and I couldn’t afford to let this pain interfere.

Once I was seated at the long conference table, I opened my laptop and arranged the financial reports in front of me, trying to ignore the growing discomfort in my abdomen. The big bosses trickled in, each one nodding at me as they took their seats. I forced a smile, my mind already racing through my presentation.

The meeting started smoothly enough. I began presenting the company’s finances, detailing the progress we had made in the last quarter, how our investments had grown, and the strategic decisions that had put us on this upward trajectory. I was in my element, or at least I was trying to be.

But then, just as I was about to move to the next slide, I felt a sudden, sharp pain that made me pause mid-sentence. I clutched the edge of the table, willing it to pass, but it only worsened. I shifted in my seat, trying to stay calm. That’s when I felt it—a warm, wet sensation trickling down my legs. My heart raced, and for a second, I froze in disbelief. It felt like I had just peed myself, but I knew this wasn’t that.

I glanced down quickly, horrified to see the water dripping from my chair to the floor. The room had gone silent. My mind raced. What was happening? The pain was no longer just discomfort—it was unbearable, like something inside me was tearing apart.

The board members stared at me, their faces shifting from confusion to concern. My hands shook as I tried to gather myself, but the pain was too intense. I couldn’t ignore it anymore.

“I-I think I need to…” I stammered, unable to finish my sentence. I stood up abruptly, gasping as the pain shot through me again, more intense than before. My vision blurred, and the room swayed.

“Hlelo!” someone called, but I barely heard them. I clutched my stomach, tears welling in my eyes as the realization hit me. This wasn’t just fatigue or stress. Something was very wrong.

Aphiwe rushed into the room, her face a mask of panic as she hurried to my side. “We need to get you to the hospital,” she said firmly, wrapping an arm around me to steady me.

I nodded weakly, unable to speak through the pain. As she helped me out of the conference room, I felt the eyes of the board members following us, their worried whispers filling the air. But all I could focus on was getting through the next minute, the next breath, as the pain tore through me.

By the time we reached the elevator, I was trembling, barely able to stand. “Aphiwe,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “I don’t know what’s happening…”

She squeezed my hand gently, her voice soft but urgent. “It’s okay, Hlelo. We’re getting you help. Just hang on.”

As the elevator doors closed, I leaned against her, tears slipping down my cheeks. The pain was unbearable, and I didn’t know how much longer I could take it. All I could think was that something was deeply, terribly wrong.