Must Date The Chef

|| 36.

Paul

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The quiet of the room is broken at intervals by that sound, I wait with a hand on my jaw, watching the doctor conduct his usual check up on my babe. Ifunaya lay on my big bed, an IV attached to a pole which links to a needle connected to her vein. The bed makes her lithe figure appear smaller and my chest tightens at the sight of her pale face. I did this to her and by God, I will fix it.

Her chest rises and falls with every breath she takes, my eyes centre on her closed eyelids like it will force it open. The doctor said she lost a lot of blood so the IV would help, plus, she will need to be put on bed rest for a certain period. That part will be easy, I don't mind having to lock her up in a room with me or turning into her houseboy but she will be getting all the rest in the world. No chores for her, I can do them.

The bullet hit her right below her floating rib, she's lucky it didn't hit the large intestine.

That was the doctor's analysis six days ago, whatever it meant I still don't know but he had smiled, assured me it was good news. It is the only thing that matters, I refuse to let the big, confusing terms dampen my spirit.

"What of the baby?" I finally ask the doctor when he takes a step away from the bed and nods. My hands fall to my side, I sigh and look at his face. Over the past few days she has been unconscious, I struggled and failed to get those words out of my lips. "You haven't mentioned it. Is that a good sign?"

That slimy bastard, King finally found a way to put a permanent label on her, how am I supposed to compete with that? I almost burst into mirthless laughter at the idea of us dating while her stomach grows with another man's child inside. She will be the baby mama to a man she claims to have no feelings for. Bullshit. A quick way to fall in love, the fastest way to start a family.

Will she keep the baby?

Abortion is a no-go area for me, all lives matter but this whole situation makes my head throb from thinking about it. I pull a strand out of my beards, I am not sure I can handle it, seeing her grow with his child.

"What baby?" replies the young, handsome doctor who looks to be in his early thirties.

Putting my hand over my stomach to mime the stance of a pregnant woman with a baby bump, my eyes dart between Ifunaya's face and the doctor's, I arch a brow, silently waiting for his verdict. My heart gallops with an intensity that has me fearing it will burst out of my chest, blood rushes to my ears and I have trouble hearing the doctor the first time he speaks. I clear my throat, beg him to repeat himself and he smiles.

"I said there's no baby," he starts with a nod, "there was never any baby." His face holds confusion as I pump my fist into the air but I don't care to explain. There is no baby.

Relief spreads through me as my body sinks into the bed to touch her, my heart slows down and I have a hard time wiping the smile off my face. I am almost tempted to squeeze the doctor in a tight hug for being the bearer of good news, instead, I pace to the door with my fingers running through my hair and return to caress Ifunaya's temple, litter light kisses on her knuckles.

"Sometimes when a lady is stressed, uses certain birth control pills or her weight keeps fluctuating, it affects her menstrual cycle. It probably was just a pregnancy scare." I nod at this, his words go through my right ear and comes out from the left.

"Can I see?" I point to her stomach, he nods but I don't move an inch from my position on the edge of the bed. The realisation that a scar now mars my girlfriend's beautiful body due to my secrecy keeps my hands glued to my knees. Will she hate me for it?