Betrayed by love

Isabella's POV

Many times have I signed my name at the bottom of the fading words of parchment, where it evidently mattered very little: Divorce signed and put away. Adrian and I were no longer husband and wife, merely two people signing on the opposite sides of a contract.

The dizzying lightness; the world must have changed since I was last on it, with the staccato clicks of my stiletto heels echoing off the marble floor to my ears like some enfeebled whispering, too loud, too sharp, cutting through the manic ring of thought. And so I passed through the glass doors and into the late afternoon sun, the last thing I remembered before going black was having my head in my hands.

Nothing in this world mattered when it came to the ambience of the town: the soft drone of taxi engines interspersed by the whiff of peanuts roasted by the vendor. I should have normally ignored it, but today it felt like poison. The smell clawed back down my throat; my stomach started twisting brutally, as if the show was going on without any input from me.

"Oh God!" I gasped, shutting my mouth.

I almost stumbled while hurling back inside and making my way to the bathrooms. Cold tiles, fluorescent light so harsh. I held on to the sink, gagging, gagging with nothing but bile; my arms felt heavy like lead and almost alien, rivulets of sweat running down my temples.

"what's wrong with me," I whispered to my reflection.

I shakily fumbled through my purse for my cellphone.

"Thomas."

He answered his face almost immediately. "Isabella?"

But I choked on my voice. "I feel sick... I feel dizzy;...the smell outside is making me want to throw up. There's definitely something wrong with me."

Another long pause, then he asked, "Where are you?"

"In the Plaza Building; I just came out of meeting my lawyer."

"Good. Don't drive. Take a cab here. I will wait for you." He hung up before I could have said another word.

The odor of disinfectant was there: a harsh sensation but clean and something to lean on, which I needed to get myself across the threshold. Thomas was standing there at the entrance in his white coat; a picturesque stranger alive with myriads of Greek.

"You look pale. Come to my office, we need to talk." He led me in.

I sank in the chair, squeezing my bag to my chest. "It all started outside. The smells-I just couldn't take it. I began feeling dizzy and almost faint. My hands felt so heavy. And I'm so tired-more than usual, but I thought it was just stress."

Thomas remained unimpressed. "Isabella... I have to put this to you: Did you ever think about the possibility that you're pregnant?"

Pregnant.

The word hung between us.

I burst out with laughter. A nervous kind of laugh that was more like a sob. "Pregnant? Thomas, I just signed those divorce papers. I'm falling apart. No way-this can't be! This can't be!"

He showed no reaction. "The signs say so. I mean, the only way to know for sure is a test. Should I do one?"

My heart hammered, my bag tightened in my grip, and a stream of memories blurred my mind. That one night with Victor-gray color of his eyes and the desperation dragging me into his embrace.

If it wasn't Adrian's...

"I do. Do it. I want to know."

The word poured out too fast. It would be a matter of time before a nurse stepped in with a kind smile and handed me a cup. "Your result is coming soon."

Those agonizing minutes seemed to drag on forever. I sat in the medical examination with my legs bouncing, staring at the wall, imagining the verdict inscribed over there. My heart was loud inside my head.

Finally, the door opened, Thomas walked in holding a piece of paper. Calm on the outside, but his eyes said something else.

I shot up. "Tell me."

He sighed, "Hypothetically, it says positive."

The room tilted; I fell back into the chair, hand pressed to my abdomen. "Positive..." My voice faltered. "That means... I'm pregnant."

"Yes."

"No. No. This can't be true." I would choke on my tears. "I just ended a marriage today. Thomas, how can it be now?"

Bending again, he searched into my eyes. "I know this is a lot to take in. But Isabella, you are having a child, like it or not. This is a real thing."

The heart-wrenching sob tore out of me. "And I don't even know whose-child it is."

Silence fell from him as I continued.

"Could be Adrian's..." that name tightened my chest. "Or Victor's. Oh my God, Thomas, what have I done?"

"You don't have to answer that today," he soothed. "But you do have to start thinking about what you are going to do next."

My head is hanging like a pretzel; I just don't know if I can do this. People will laugh at me-a divorced woman, pregnant right after signing papers... What self-respect will be left with me?"

"Let them think about what they want." A note of firmness had crept into his voice. "This is your life, Isabella, not theirs. What matters is what you want."

I was looking at him again; helplessness was plainly visible on my face. "I don't even know what I want anymore."

"You don't have to decide everything tonight," he replied more softly. "But don't run from this. Don't run from yourself."

I buried my face in my hands as tears pooled between my fingers. "Thomas, I'm scared. What if I ruin this kid's life before it even starts?"

His hand became warm and firm against my shoulder. "You can't. You are stronger than you know. You've survived betrayal and humiliation. You can survive this. The question is, do you want to?"

Slowly, I lowered my hands and looked at him, blurred vision. "I don't know... but maybe I have to."

Tension ran between us. For the first time since stepping out of my lawyer's office, I breathed- not freely, but just enough to get by.

By the time I exited the hospital, dusk had saturated the sky, orange and violet streaks bravely pierced through pollution and disappeared. It was the same smell out there-exhaust, food, too many lives jammed together-but now it did not exactly knock off the breath out of me.

In composed steps, I held one hand against my abdomen.

Pregnant. A word that changes everything.

Adrian's child? Victor's? Well, I would find out one day. But as the streetlights lit up, the real, tormenting question remained:

What do I do now?