37 ??The hospital report??

LEIA

Sweat trickled down my back as I held the hospital report in my hands. My room felt hot and empty.

I was dreading this moment.

Right after I'd visited the doctor to confirm my pregnancy, I had decided to take my CIE's privately. That meant no going to school. No facing 'certain' people.

Because I was two and a half months through and soon everybody would be able to tell. And I didn't want anyone to know. Especially not him.

But obviously Ammar had to know. I couldn't hide this from him. It was his child too, after all.

However, I had a feeling that after he got this news, he wouldn't let me go. Ever.

So, of course, I was nervous.

No, actually.

I was terrified.

My heart almost fell out of my chest when the door opened and Ammar stepped inside. He was dressed up in his usual office clothing though Lord knew where he went looking like this.

He wasn't bad looking at all. Some would even call him handsome.

But outward beauty didn't matter as soon as the ugliness inside became evident.

I greeted him with a Salaam—peace. He responded but still didn't notice the file in my hands. The one that confirmed my pregnancy. That contained the peanut-sized images of the ultrasound. I was so, so happy. But this—he—would drive me insane any day now.

I hadn't moved in with him. I kept delaying it to tomorrow. They were all excuses. I think he knew it too.

"Can we talk?"

His eyes met mine. I read the unsure look. We all knew words like these were never accompanied by something good.

"Sure," he said, though it sounded more like a question.

I put my hands behind my back, hiding the file from his view. "I think you might want to sit down for this."

Slowly, he lowered himself into the sofa by the window, a quizzical look marring his face. He quirked an eyebrow.

I cleared my throat modestly, taking a seat beside him. His eyes fell to the hands I had locked behind my back.

"What's that . . .?" he stretched out to grab the file but I scooted out of his reach.

"First, I have some things to say to you," I said, feeling the beat of my heart in my ears.

"I'm listening,"

"Our contract, as you already know, has come to an end. Marriage doesn't work through contracts where we decide how many years we want to be with someone. I wish I'd known that when I agreed to this with you. Now—"

"Not this again," he groaned.

I placed a hand over the crevasse of his arm, showing him how determined I was. How serious this was. He quieted down thankfully.

I released a breath. "I'm not asking for a divorce, Ammar. I just—I can't live with you."

I searched his face for any kind of emotion. There was anger. A lot of it. But he wasn't saying anything.

"I'm not joking with you," I whispered.

He kept his eyes on my face. Not saying anything. Slowly, he reached out. At first, I was confused. Why was his hand nearing me?

Everything soon cleared out when his hand came over to rest on my stomach.

"What about him?"

All the breath left my body. I stared open-mouthed at him, heart beating riotously in my chest. I was unable to form a single coherent thought.

How did he know?