Chapter 4

When I was wheeled out of the operating room, I saw someone standing in the hallway.

It was Emily, My best friend.

She was wearing pajamas under a puffer jacket, her hair looked like a bird's nest, with half a face mask still clinging to her forehead.

When she saw me, she rushed over and grabbed the edge of the bed. "Sophie. Are you okay? Did you have the baby? Is it a boy or a girl? How much did it weigh?"

"A girl, six thirteen," I replied.

"Good." She let out a sigh of relief and patted her chest. "You scared me to death. On the way here, I almost made the driver run two red lights..."

Her words came to an abrupt halt when she saw the person following the bed. It was Henry, still in his scrubs, with his mask dangling from his chin.

He was following behind my bed, holding my medical chart.

Emily's expression could be summed up in two words, holy shit.

"S-Sophie." Emily pointed at Henry, her voice shaking. "Why is he here?"

"He works here," I said, closing my eyes.

"Then why is he following you?"

"He's my anesthesiologist."

"Then why is he..." Emily pointed back and forth between me and Henry. "What's with that look? And why is he trailing you like that?"

Henry called out from behind, "Hey. I'm the baby's dad."

Emily's sheet mask slipped right off her forehead. It landed on the floor with a loud smack. She left it there.

"What did you say?" Emily asked.

"The baby's dad," Henry repeated, nodding.

Emily turned to look at me.

That look was so layered with meaning that I could read at least seven different implications from it.

First: You lied.

Second: Seriously? You lied to me?

Third: Eight months? You kept this from me for eight months?

Fourth: The baby is his?

Fifth: Didn't you say the baby's dad was some random guy you hooked up with?

Sixth: You are so dead.

Seventh: Wait, this gossip is actually pretty juicy.

"Sophie." Emily took a deep breath. "Didn't you tell me the baby's dad was some random foreign guy you picked up at a bar? Wasn't his name Tom or something?"

Henry's footsteps stopped.

I swear, the air behind me instantly turned to ice.

"Tom?" His voice came from right above my head.

I let out a dry laugh. "Emily, you must be mixing things up."

"I'm not." Emily got all fired up, pulling out her phone.

Emily said, "You sent this to me, [Emily, don't worry about the baby's dad. I met him at a bar. He's a foreigner named Tom, and already gone back to his country. He won't bother me.] And look at the date, seven months ago."

She shoved her phone right in my face. It was all there in black and white. I had sent it.

I thought I'd come up with a pretty good story at the time.

Right now, I wish I could go back seven months and throttle myself for being so stupid.

There was a heavy silence behind me for three seconds.

Then Henry came around to the front of the bed and looked down at me.

With the hallway lights behind him, his face was half in shadow, half in light.

"Tom," Henry drawled out the name, each syllable dripping with sarcasm.

"A foreigner; went back to his country; won't bother you." Every word felt like a nail hammered right into my face.

I refused to back down. "I do know a Tom."

"Oh?" Henry cocked his head. "So, which bar did you meet him at? Maybe I should go check it out myself."

"Uh, he's already gone back to his country."

Henry cocked an eyebrow. "Which country? Maybe I should pay him a visit on my next business trip."

"Afriland."

"Which city in Afriland?"

"Henry." I was backed into a corner, my voice cracking. "Why are you all up in my business? You're the anesthesiologist. Surgery's done, you can leave now."

"Can't leave," Henry said, tucking the chart under his arm and shoving his hands in his pockets. "Post-op observation lasts 24 hours. Anesthesiologists have to follow up."

"Don't make stuff up. Post-op follow-up after a C-section is the OB's job."

"I'm working overtime today."

"..."