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I sit for a moment, trying to steady my breathing, and a chilling possibility dawns on me. The memories of the passionate nights spent with Damien come flooding back. The tender moments, the fiery encounters, the careless abandon with which we lost ourselves in each other.
A mixture of fear and wonder grips me. Is it possible that I'm pregnant? The thought sends a whirlwind of emotions through me—joy, terror, disbelief. But one thing is clear: if I am carrying Damien's child, escaping is now more vital than ever.
With newfound determination, I rise to my feet, cleaning myself up. I need to be smart about this. Rushing out in this condition could be dangerous for both me and the potential life inside me. I need to plan better and be more cautious.
I return to the bed, my mind working overtime. I need to find another way out, a safer, surer way. And I need to do it soon.
The morning light has barely filtered through the curtains when the nausea hits again, this time more violent than before. I lurch from the bed, barely making it to the bathroom before the retching starts. It's loud and uncontrollable, a clear signal to anyone nearby that something is wrong.
Within moments, the sound of heavy footsteps approaches, and two guards burst into the room. They stand awkwardly in the doorway, unsure of how to react to the sight of me, hunched over and vulnerable.
With a bitter laugh between heaves, I manage to quip, "Do I look like I'm in shape to stage a daring escape? Get me a doctor, you oafs."
An hour or so later, there's a gentle knock on the door, and a kind-faced female doctor enters, her medical bag in hand. She's a welcome sight compared to the cold, hard men outside my room. There’s a softness in her eyes that suggests a well of empathy.
"So, how have you been feeling lately? Any discomfort or unusual symptoms?" she asks, her voice tinged with a professional curiosity that doesn't quite mask a hint of underlying concern.
I hesitate, my mind still reeling from the whirlwind of events. "Nausea, mostly," I admit, trying to keep my voice steady. It comes and goes, and I've been more tired than usual."
She nods, jotting down notes on her clipboard. "And what about your eating habits? Any changes there?"
I shrug slightly. "It's hard to have an appetite with everything that's happening."
The doctor gives me a sympathetic look before proceeding to the next part of the checkup. "I'm going to run a few more tests, just to be thorough," she announces as she prepares a small kit.
She performs a pregnancy test, and I find myself holding my breath, anxiety and anticipation knotting in my stomach.
As the minutes tick by, each second stretches out, filling me with a myriad of emotions. Fear, hope, confusion, and a strange sense of excitement all swirl together within me.
Finally, the doctor looks up, her expression carefully neutral. "The test is positive. Based on the information you’ve given me, you’re about four weeks pregnant,” she states, her professional detachment mingling with a trace of warmth in her voice.
For a moment, the room seems to spin around me. Pregnant. The word echoes in my mind, creating a beacon of light and a source of deep, overwhelming uncertainty. My hand instinctively moves to my abdomen, a protective gesture that feels as natural as it does surprising.
“Four weeks...” I whisper, more to myself than to her. The reality of it all begins to sink in, and a thousand questions flood my mind. But above all, there’s an undeniable sense of connection, a bond already forming with the life growing inside me.
The doctor gives me a reassuring smile, perhaps sensing the tumult of emotions playing across my face. “It’s a lot to take in, I know. But I’ll be here to help you through this. You’re not alone.”
The doctor must see the shock, the swirl of emotions on my face because she touches my arm in a comforting gesture. "I'll make sure the guards know to increase your food portions," she says, her tone implying more than just medical concern. There's sympathy there, perhaps even a hint of camaraderie. “And I will have prenatal vitamins delivered to you as well.”
As she leaves, I'm left alone with this new, monumental truth. I'm going to be a mother. And while the joy of it bubbles somewhere deep inside me, it's overshadowed by the immediate, pressing fear for our safety.
This isn't just about me anymore. There's a child to think about now.
Staring out the window at the sprawling cityscape of Istanbul, I feel the weight of my solitude pressing down on me. The fact that I'm carrying a child in this precarious situation amplifies my sense of urgency. Pregnant, alone, far from Damien, and held captive in a foreign land—my circumstances couldn't be more dire.
Yet, as the daunting view from my high vantage point reminds me of my captivity, it also stirs up even more resilience in me. Escape from this window is impossible, a sheer drop to the bustling streets below. But impossibility has never been a reason for me not to try.
My thoughts wander to Damien. Is he searching for me? Does he even know where to start looking? The uncertainty gnaws at me, a relentless reminder of our separation. I gently rub my hand over my abdomen, whispering promises of protection to the life growing inside me.
I can’t wait for Damien, as much as every fiber of my being yearns for him to be my rescuer. The responsibility I feel now for the tiny life we created together propels me to action. I need to be the architect of my own escape for our child's sake.
Chapter 27
Mariya
Sitting alone in my room, I pick at the food on my plate, each bite a battle against the relentless waves of nausea. The realization that I'm pregnant has thrown my world into a dizzying spin, and while part of me is terrified, another part is fiercely determined.
A knock at the door jolts me from my reverie. The door creaks open, and Ahmet Sahin steps in, his presence dominating the room. His face is a mask of stern authority, but his eyes tell a different story—one of curiosity, perhaps even a begrudging respect.
