Stephanie went with Victoria to see an obstetrician-gynecologist. Though she wasn't entirely sure what to expect, she followed her friend's lead without question. Victoria had always seemed composed, confident—someone who knew exactly what she was doing. But that illusion shattered the moment she confessed she'd been to the doctor twice before.
Stephanie froze. "Wait—you've done this before?"
Victoria exhaled sharply, her tone half-defensive, half-resigned. "Yes. Twice. What, you think I'm proud of it? It's not exactly something you bring up over lunch."
Stephanie blinked, her heart thudding. For years, she'd believed Victoria was the "good" one—the balanced, unshakable friend who never got into trouble. Yet now, sitting beside her in that quiet cab, she wasn't so sure anymore.
"I'm not judging you, Vic," she said softly. "It's just… I wish you'd told me."
Victoria turned to her, eyes steady. "I'm only telling you now because you're my friend. And because I don't want you going through this alone. But Stephanie—listen to me—don't tell anyone. Don't even hint at it. Not Samuel, not anyone. Promise me. Or we turn back right now."
Stephanie hesitated, then nodded. "I promise. I won't tell a soul."
---
They arrived at a small hospital tucked between two old buildings. It didn't look like a place where lives changed—it looked ordinary, almost forgettable. A fading sign above the doorway read: Dr. A.O. Wale – Specialist in Women's Health.
Inside, the waiting room was cool and still. The air smelled faintly of disinfectant. A ceiling fan spun lazily above their heads while a handful of young women sat silently, eyes downcast. The kind of silence that carried shame and fear in equal measure.
Stephanie's fingers trembled as she clutched her handbag. Her heart pounded in her chest, so loud she swore others could hear it. Victoria filled out the form at the front desk like she had done it a hundred times. When the receptionist asked for payment, Stephanie hesitated, then pulled out Samuel's debit card—the one he had given her for "emergencies."
Her hands shook as she typed the PIN.
Victoria didn't speak. There was nothing to say. Stephanie had made her decision—or at least, she thought she had.
Minutes dragged into hours until finally, a nurse called her name.
Stephanie rose, her knees weak.
"You'll be fine," Victoria whispered, squeezing her hand.
---
The consultation room smelled faintly of alcohol wipes and latex gloves. Dr. Wale, a man in his fifties, looked up from a clipboard. His eyes were kind but tired—the kind that had seen too much.
"Stephanie, right?" he asked gently.
She nodded, barely meeting his gaze.
"Don't worry," he said. "We'll talk first. Nothing happens until you're certain. Alright?"
"Yes," she whispered.
"Good. You're still early," he explained. "You have some time to think, but not too much. If you're unsure, talk to someone you trust. And whatever you decide, we'll make sure you're safe."
He asked questions about her health, her last period, her consent. Stephanie answered in whispers. Every word felt heavy. Then came the explanation—what the procedure involved, the risks, the recovery. His tone was calm, practiced, but her heart raced faster with every sentence.
Finally, he paused. "Are you sure about your decision?"
She hesitated, hands clenched in her lap.
"I… I'm sure," she breathed.
---
When it was over, Stephanie lay motionless on the recovery bed. The world felt distant, like she was underwater. Her skin was pale, her heartbeat uneven.
"Are you okay?" Victoria asked softly.
Stephanie didn't answer. She just stared at the ceiling, blank and hollow.
Victoria held her hand. Neither spoke. There were no words left to fill that silence.
Before they left, Dr. Wale pulled Victoria aside. "We managed to stop the bleeding, but she's weak. No movement, no stress. She needs rest and someone to watch her closely."
---
By afternoon, despite Victoria's protests, Stephanie insisted on returning to Samuel's apartment.
"I just want to go home," she whispered.
"Steph, please," Victoria pleaded. "The doctor said you shouldn't move."
"I'll be fine," Stephanie said faintly. "Samuel will worry if I don't come back."
Victoria sighed, defeated. "Alright. I'll order a ride. But text me when you get home, okay?"
Stephanie nodded weakly.
---
The ride home was quiet. The city outside the window blurred by like a dream she couldn't wake from. When she finally stepped into Samuel's apartment, the silence pressed against her like a weight. She dropped her bag on the floor and collapsed onto the couch, exhausted.
Then came the pain.
At first, it was dull—manageable. Then it sharpened, twisting through her abdomen like a knife. She gasped, clutching her stomach.
Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
A warm wetness spread beneath her. When she looked down, her breath caught.
Blood.
A lot of it.
It soaked through her clothes, staining the couch and pooling on the floor.
"God…" she whispered, her vision swimming.
She tried to stand, but her legs gave out. The world tilted. She fell, hitting the floor hard.
Her breath came in shallow bursts. Darkness edged her vision.
---
Hours later, Samuel returned from the restaurant, tired but smiling faintly.
"Steph, I'm ho—"
The words froze in his throat.
She was lying on the floor. Blood. So much blood.
"Stephanie!" he yelled, dropping to his knees. He lifted her limp body in his arms. "Hey! Hey, talk to me! What happened?!"
She murmured something, barely audible.
"Stay with me, please!"
He ran to the kitchen, grabbed a small jar from the cupboard—his mother's herbal tonic, one he'd learned to prepare for emergencies. He worked fast, boiling water, crushing the bitter leaves, whispering prayers under his breath.
When it was ready, he lifted her head and pressed the cup to her lips. "Drink this… come on, Stephanie, drink."
She swallowed weakly, trembling.
Her breathing slowed. The bleeding eased. But he could still feel her pulse fluttering, faint as a whisper.
He stayed with her all night, changing towels, wiping her face, whispering words of comfort she might not even hear.
By dawn, her eyes fluttered open.
"Samuel…" she breathed. "I thought I was going to die."
"You're not dying," he said firmly, brushing her hair back. "You hear me? You're not leaving me. Not like this."
Tears burned in his eyes. He wasn't angry—not yet—but something inside him had cracked.
---
Later that morning, he picked up his phone and called Simon.
"Bro, I won't make it to the restaurant today," Samuel said, his voice hoarse. "Something's wrong with Stephanie."
"What happened?" Simon asked, alarmed.
"I can't explain right now. Just handle things for me. Please."
"Alright. Take care of her. I'll check in later."
Samuel ended the call and turned back to Stephanie. She looked fragile, like glass that could shatter at any moment.
"Stephanie," he said quietly, "we need to go to the hospital. And I need you to tell me what happened."
Her heart thudded in her chest. She wanted to speak, but shame clamped down on her throat.
"Samuel, please…" she whispered. "I'm sorry."
"Hey," he said, kneeling beside her. "I'm not angry. I just need the truth. That's all I want."
Tears spilled down her cheeks.
"I didn't mean to hurt you," she sobbed. "I just… didn't know what else to do."
He watched her, silent, the weight of unspoken things thick between them.
For the first time, Samuel realized—this wasn't just about a mistake. It was about secrets, fear, and the fragile thread of love that could snap at any moment.