Weeks passed, and her calmness felt unsettling. Every week, she said she had appointments with her gynecologist. I tried to trust her, but guilt made me suspicious. Why would she visit so often? I told myself it wasn’t my place to question, not after what I’d done. Still, the unease grew stronger each day.
Finally, one evening, I asked her directly. She looked at me for a long moment, then smiled — not in anger, but in peace. “I’m pregnant,” she said softly. My heart stopped. After everything I’d done, she had been protecting both herself and the new life growing inside her. I felt both humbled and ashamed.
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