Dr. Cromwell is a bootlegger that Elio trusts. I didn't know the old man well enough to trust him, but he was decent at what he did even if he operated out of his home in the deep country.
I shifted uncomfortably on a creaky chair, feeling the weight of my illness settle in my bones. For weeks, I brushed off the fatigue and nausea, convincing myself it was just stress. Mike has me working with the twins at odd hours of the night. If it wasn't standing outside hotel rooms listening to the screams of men who owed Mike money begging for their lives, then it was cleaning up the aftermath that came with the killings. Most of the time I couldn't hold my nausea down and other times I was cleaning up blood and picking up limbs covered in my vomit. But now, I could no longer ignore the tightness in my stomach or the way my head spun when I stood up too quickly.
"Everest?" A gravelly voice broke through my thoughts. Dr. Cromwell appeared in the doorway. He looks much older than the last time I saw him. His scruffy beard and tired eyes have seen too much. He gives a tired half grin.
"Yeah," I replied, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "I–uh, I ain't feeling well."
"Come in, Let's take a look." Dr. Cromwell waved me inside the room, motioning to a small examination table.
As I sat down, Dr.Cromwell began checking my vitals. His hands were rough, but his touch was surprisingly gentle. "What seems to be the matter?" he asked, peering over his glasses.
"I've been nauseous and...tired. It's been hard to get out of bed." I admitted, feeling a flicker of vulnerability.
He nodded, jotting down notes. "How long has this been going on?"
"About three weeks," I said.
After a series of questions and a quick examination. Dr. Cromwell's brow furrowed. "You might want to take a pregnancy test. Symptoms like yours can sometimes indicate that."
My breath caught in my throat. "Pregnancy? That's...not possible." A wave of panic washes over me. My mind flickers to Elio—that night in my hotel room. But could it really lead to this?
"I'll have to run some more tests," Dr. Cromwell said, observing my reaction closely. "It'll take a few minutes."
"If I am pregnant. How can this shit happen?"
"Have you heard of the Alpha and the Omega gene?"
It sounded familiar, but I couldn't pinpoint where I heard it from. "Uh, yeah..."
"Whoever you had sex with must have the Alpha gene. Meaning you have the Omega gene."
As Dr. Cromwell leaves the room, my mind raced. I was scared, but part of me felt something else—something hopeful. A child? With Elio? How could I bring this up? This wasn't some casual conversation where you just throw in: Oh, by the way, I'm having your goddamn baby. It doesn't hit me until a few seconds later that I'm carrying Elio's child. I wasn't prepared for a child, not with Elio.
Moments later, Dr. Cromwell returned holding a small plastic stick and a cup. "You know how this works?" he asked.
I nodded, my heart pounds in my chest. I took the test, and my hands trembled, as I followed Dr. Cromwell's instructions. After what felt like an eternity, I returned to the room and handed the stick back. My throat was dry.
His expression shifted to a mix of concern and something softer. "We'll know in just a moment."
So we waited in silence, and my heart raced with each tick of the clock. Finally, Dr. Cromwell glanced at the test and back at me. "Well, it looks like you're pregnant."
The words hung in the air, heavy and unreal. I felt the world tilt beneath me. "Pregnant?" I whispered, barely able to process the revelation. "You sure?"
