Seven Months Pregnant When I was Diagnosed with Cancer

When I opened my eyes, the lights were too white. Too sharp. For a moment, I thought I was dead.

But then the pain hit.

A dull, stabbing ache split through my skull, my back throbbed, and my stomach twisted. I blinked slowly, turning my head just enough to see the IV drip hanging beside me, the wires taped to my arm.

“You’re awake,” the nurse said softly, stepping in with a clipboard. She looked young, maybe my age, but her eyes held that exhausted kindness only nurses had. “You’re in the hospital. Please don’t move too fast. You’ve got stitches on your forehead and bruises along your ribs. Your body needs rest.”

I groaned, every inch of me sore. “My baby…?”

She gave me a faint smile. “Still hanging on. That little one’s a fighter.”

I felt tears sting my eyes. I hadn’t even realized I was holding my breath until then. The nurse patted my arm gently.

“You’ll need to stay for monitoring, especially with your condition,” she added. “We’re giving you medication to keep your vitals stable—for you and the baby.”

I nodded slowly, wiping the corners of my eyes. “Thanks…”

She hesitated at the edge of the bed. “Do you have anyone we should call? Family? Husband?”

I stared at her, my mind flashing back to the last thing I heard before losing consciousness.

“Don’t look at her, you might not want to see the blood. Let’s go and buy some baby clothes.”

Harold’s voice.

“She’s knocked out, someone will help her.”

And Taylor. Crying—maybe. Or pretending. It didn’t matter.

“No,” I whispered, shaking my head. “There’s no one.”

The nurse nodded, scribbled something, and left me alone with my thoughts.

My hands trembled as I reached for the hospital phone.

If they weren’t going to tell the truth, I would.

I took a deep breath, dialed, and waited. “911, what’s your emergency?”

“I… I want to report a vehicular accident,” I said, my voice stronger than I expected. “It happened earlier outside St. Luke’s Medical. I believe it was intentional. I believe it had a motive.”

There was a pause. “Do you have a name for the driver?”

“Yes,” I said. “Taylor Moore.”

I hung up before I could lose my nerve.

For the first time in years, I felt something other than helplessness.

But courage is short-lived when you’re alone.

I must’ve dozed off because the next thing I knew, I was being yanked upward by the arm, my shoulder crying out in pain.

“What the hell did you do?” Harold’s voice snapped me out of my daze.

My eyes fluttered open to see his furious face inches from mine. Taylor stood behind him, weeping, dabbing fake tears with a tissue. My stomach twisted again—not from pain, but disgust.

“Why is the police questioning her?” Harold spat. “Are you trying to ruin everything?”

“She hit me with her car and left me there,” I whispered, pulling away from his grip.

“It was an accident, Valerie!” he shouted. “You know she’s new to driving—”

“Then why didn’t she help me?” I asked.

“She panicked! You’re blowing this out of proportion. You didn’t have to file a report. You could’ve talked to me!”

“Talked?” I scoffed. “Like how you laughed about me dying?”

Taylor sniffled behind him. “I didn’t mean to, I swear—”

“Don’t apologize to her,” Harold snapped, turning to her. “She’s the one who needs to apologize. Look what she’s done. She scared you with the police. You know what kind of scandal this could be? Your mother—our family—will be dragged into this. She’ll choose Taylor over you again. Do you really want that?”

I clenched my fists beneath the blanket. “I don’t care anymore.”

“You should,” he said darkly. “Now apologize.”

“What?” I blinked.

“Stand up. Apologize to Taylor. Now.”

I shook my head slowly, “You want me to apologize for being hit by a car?”

He grabbed my wrist, yanking me halfway up. “You scared her. You threatened her. Now do it.”

Tears burned down my cheeks as my knees hit the cold tile floor.

“I’m sorry,” I choked, my voice breaking.

“Louder.”

“I’m sorry…” I whispered again.

Taylor touched Harold’s arm gently. “It’s okay,” she murmured, eyes glistening like glass. “She’s just upset.”

But I saw it.

The smile tugging at the corner of her lips when she thought I couldn’t see. The same look she had when she blamed me for that broken vase in college—the antique heirloom my biological mother adored. She framed me. Lied straight-faced. My mother locked me in my room for two days.

And now here she was again, stealing my life, my home, my future—and watching me kneel for it.

They walked out without another word.

The door shut softly behind them, but the noise in my chest was deafening.

That was it. I was done.

I grabbed the phone again with shaking hands and dialed the number I had hidden at the back of my mind for so long.

It rang once. Twice.

Then I heard his voice.

“Val?”

“Drake…” My voice wavered.

“Valerie?” he repeated, more alert now. “Are you okay?”

“I’m ready,” I said quietly. “I’m agreeing to marry you now. Just… come and pick me up.”