Clinton was left outside while the doctor examined me; he had given me a shot, so the pain was bearable now.
“You’re pregnant?” The doctor, sounding like a question, told me.
“Yes.”
“And your pregnancy is a rare, risky one. I’m amazed at how this even happened,” the doctor said.
“Yes, I’m aware, doctor. What was I doing wrong? Is my baby okay? What was that pain?” I panicked.
“Yes, your baby is perfectly fine. The pain was due to you not taking your medication,” he assured, and I felt some sense of relief. “Otherwise, there’s nothing much for me to do except ask your husband to take good care of you.”
“No! I mean, don’t tell my husband I’m pregnant. It’s for personal reasons; just make up anything; yes, I’ve been under stress lately; you can make up that excuse,” I told him, and he s
