He Never Knew I Was Carrying His Child

"Tomorrow?" The family physician looked up from my chart, surprised.

"So soon? Are you sure you don't want to wait a few days?"

He hesitated before adding, "Mr. Blackwood is flying back tomorrow. He'd probably want to be here with you."

I gently closed the folder.

"This is my decision. It’s just a knee surgery, I can handle it alone. "

The doctor stared at me.

Everyone in the Blackwood organization knew what I used to be like.

If I caught a cold, I wanted Damian beside me. I'd once cried because I got a paper cut opening one of his files. I had always depended on him.

So hearing me say I can do it myself felt almost unbelievable.

As I stepped out of the office, I froze.

Damian Blackwood had just walked through the hospital entrance, one hand resting on his suitcase.

The other instinctively reached back, helping Clara step over the marble stairs.

She was wrapped in a black cashmere coat.

My gift to Damian. The coat I'd spent months searching for before our third wedding anniversary.

His eyes landed on me. His brows knitted together. "What are you doing here?"

A brief pause. "You're sick again?"

Again. Like I was another problem waiting on his desk.

He took the folder from my hands before I could stop him.

His eyes skimmed the report. "I'm busy tomorrow. You'll reschedule. We'll do this next week."

The words escaped my mouth before I even thought about them.

"That's okay. I'll take care of it myself. Thank you."

Silence.

Damian actually looked startled.

Two weeks ago, I couldn't decide what dress to wear without texting him.

Now, I was scheduling surgery without telling him.

If we hadn't run into each other by chance, he never would've known.

As I reached for my file, something slipped from Damian's pocket.

A hormone medication. The kind commonly used to suppress pregnancy symptoms.

He bent down immediately.

"Don't misunderstand." His voice remained calm.

"Clara hasn't been feeling well. I picked it up for her."

Clara quickly lowered her head.

"I'm sorry, Elena. He was supposed to go home first. I just wasn't feeling well enough to come alone." Then she smiled sheepishly.

"I wish I could be as independent as you. Then Mr. Blackwood wouldn't have to keep taking care of me."

Independent. The word almost made me laugh.

A month ago, when severe stomach pain kept me awake all night, I called Damian.

I thought he would at least worry. Instead, his first question was: "Is it really that serious?"

I told him I didn't know. I was scared. I just wanted him to come home.

But Damian only said, "Elena, call one of the doctors. You don't need me for every little thing."

When I told him he was being cold, he replied: "You're an adult, Elena. Can't you figure out something this simple yourself? You depend on me for everything. I'm your boyfriend. Not your caretaker."

Funny. The most powerful man in New York could solve anyone's problems. Except his girlfriend’s.

But my sister only had to whisper that she felt unwell, and the feared Don of the Blackwood family personally escorted her to the hospital.

Anyone looking from the outside would've thought Clara was the one married to him.

Months ago, I would've fought with him, demanded an explanation and cried until he stayed.

Now, I simply nodded.

"Okay."

No anger. No jealousy. No tears.

Just one quiet word.

Because there was something Damian still didn't know.

I lowered my eyes, instinctively resting a hand against my coat.

The life growing inside me would never hear me call him for help.

The baby will grow up with me only.