Days turned into weeks. I was exhausted—physically, emotionally. Then, one morning, nausea hit me like a wave. I barely made it to the bathroom before vomiting everything in my stomach. It kept happening. Over and over. A sinking feeling settled in my gut as I grabbed a pregnancy test. The result?
POSITIVE.
I was pregnant. But not with James’ child. My entire body trembled as I stared at the test. I had tried so hard to erase that night from my memory, to pretend it never happened. But now, it was impossible to ignore. The baby growing inside me wasn’t James’. It was his. The man who had raped me. I felt sick all over again.
Apart from that, I am afraid that it may caused the pharmaceutical business to fall down.
Months passed, and I continued my act. Until James saw my growing belly, letting him believe the baby was his. He was happy. Good thing, there was one night we shared a heat together. Not long ago. But I told him to use protection.