Things Aren’t What They Seem
Before her morning rounds, Nurse Emily stepped into the office and confided:
“Dr. Helen, Isabelle from Ward Five has been begging me all evening to let her go home. You said to inform you if anything came up.”
“Thank you, Emily. I’ll handle it.” Helen adjusted a loose strand of hair beneath her cap and headed to Ward Five.
By the window, a girl lay turned toward the wall.
“Good morning, Lucy. What’s wrong?”
Lucy jerked around and sat up.
“Please discharge me. I can’t lie here any longer. At home, I could distract myself, do something useful—but here…” Her voice broke, and she cast a pleading glance at Helen.
“No need for tears—it’s not good for the baby. Or have you changed your mind about keeping it?” Helen asked sternly.
“No, I haven’t. I feel fine. I promise I’ll rest at home, take walks, and do nothing strenuous. Please let me go. The weather’s lovely, and I’m stuck in this stuffy ward all day.” She offered a timid smile.
“Fine. Tomorrow we’ll run tests and do an ultrasound. If all’s well, I’ll discharge you,” Helen promised.
“Thank you!” Lucy clasped her hands together. “I swear I’ll be careful. If anything feels off, I’ll call straight away.”
Leaving the ward, Helen still couldn’t fathom how her son had fallen for this pale, unremarkable girl. Her handsome boy had worked at a prestigious firm—had worked. She corrected herself mentally. It was his choice, and she had to respect it. If James loved her, she’d try to do the same.
Back in university, James had been head over heels for the dazzling Rebecca. They’d made a striking couple. But a year later, Rebecca left him for some foreigner. He’d been devastated—skipped classes, nearly dropped out. Helen feared he’d throw away his future.
Eventually, he pulled himself together, graduated, and landed a good job. Still, he avoided dating for ages. Then he met Lucy—slight, mousy, the polar opposite of Rebecca. Maybe he’d thought someone like her would never betray him.
“Mum, meet Lucy,” he’d said on their first visit home.
Helen had struggled not to grimace. Every Lucy she’d ever known had been two-faced—outwardly fragile, inwardly calculating. She’d hoped the relationship wouldn’t last. They were too different.
When James announced his engagement, she’d bitten her tongue.
“Have you registered yet?” she’d asked instead of congratulating him.
“Not yet. Aren’t you happy for me?” he’d replied anxiously.
“What matters is that you are,” she’d said.
He’d given Lucy a diamond ring, still glinting on her slender finger. The wedding was set for August. Helen had prayed something would change his mind by then.
She’d jinxed it. At a friend’s birthday, James had drunk, sensibly sent Lucy home in a taxi, and walked back to clear his head. In a dark alley, he’d seen two men forcing a girl into a car. She’d fought, screaming for help.
He’d intervened. One stabbed him in the gut. The car had sped off, leaving him bleeding on the pavement. By the time he was found, it was too late.
Unconsciously, Helen blamed Lucy. Why hadn’t she insisted he come home with her? Blamed herself too—she’d raised him that way.
She’d thought grief would kill her. But she’d returned to work. Then Lucy was admitted—ten weeks pregnant, at risk of miscarriage. The dates suggested it was his. Lucy confirmed it.
Helen gave her the best care, ensuring she followed every instruction. She clung to the hope of a grandchild—preferably a boy, but a girl would do. It was James’s baby.
Before discharge, Helen asked if Lucy’s mother would be there.
“She doesn’t know,” Lucy admitted.
“How? Why not tell her?”
“Mum raised me alone. Always feared I’d end up a single mother. And now…”
“But James proposed! You were engaged. Had we known, we’d never have postponed the wedding,” Helen protested.
“I wasn’t sure myself. Thought I’d tell her once I knew for certain. Then I ran out of time. So now I’ll be raising the baby alone too,” Lucy said bleakly.
“You’ve got us. You’re carrying our grandchild. We’ll help. You didn’t tell her you were in hospital?” Helen guessed.
Lucy nodded, head bowed.
“Perhaps you shouldn’t rush home? Stay a bit longer?”
“No. I want to go. I’ll tell her. Thank you, Helen. I thought… after James died, you wouldn’t want me around.”
“Don’t be silly. Promise you’ll visit.”
“I promise.”
It unsettled Helen that Lucy had kept the pregnancy secret. If she lied about this, what else? They were nothing alike. How had James fallen for her?
Days passed with no word from Lucy. Helen called repeatedly, then went to her flat. No answer.
Then one evening, returning from shift, she heard laughter in the kitchen. Lucy sat at the table, her husband beside her, chatting animatedly.
Lucy looked anything but grief-stricken—if anything, cheerful. Spotting Helen, she froze.
“I didn’t hear you come in,” her husband mumbled. “Just having tea with Lucy. Why are you barefoot?” His gaze flicked to Lucy’s feet—in Helen’s slippers.
“Hello, Lucy. I’ve been calling,” Helen said, relieved despite herself.
“I lost my phone. Came to reassure you. I told Mum everything.” Tears welled in her eyes.
“Love,” her husband stammered, “her mother threw her out after a row.”
Helen sat opposite Lucy. “Don’t cry. Stay with us. You’re family.” She sighed, already dreading the fallout.
That night, lying awake, she debated confronting Lucy’s mother. But perhaps it was better Lucy stayed under their roof.
Next day, Helen visited the woman—a striking brunette, nothing like her plain daughter.
“You’re Lucy’s mum?”
“Yes. She’s not here.”
“I’m here for you. I’m James’s mother. She says you kicked her out.”
“Since when do doctors make house calls?” the woman smirked.
“Lucy’s expecting James’s baby. She’s with us now.”
The smile vanished. “I never met him. She kept us apart. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“We’ll support her. She needs you now.”
“I shouted, yes. Said things I didn’t mean. I raised her alone—no help, no sympathy. Didn’t want that life for her.”
“She’s secretive. Not as weak as she seems. Sharp as a tack under that meek act. Trust me, I know her better than you.”
On the way home, Helen mulled over her words. She recalled how Lucy’s face had changed upon seeing her in the doorway. “Not as weak as she seems.”
Lucy settled in without hurry. She slept in James’s room, lounged, watched telly, occasionally attempted cooking—badly.
Two weeks later, Helen left for a conference. That night, unease gnawed at her. She called home—Lucy cheerfully said she was frying chicken for her father-in-law.
Frying chicken? She’d barely managed toast before.
Helen cut the trip short. Returning late, she found her husband’s side of the bed empty. Heart pounding, she flung open James’s door and flicked the light on.
Lucy blinked up from his bare shoulder.
“You’re back?” her husband mumbled.
“What are you doing here?” Helen’s voice was ice.
“It’s not what you think! She was crying, I came to comfort her—we fell asleep…”
“In her bed? Naked? She’s carrying your son’s child!”
She fled to the kitchen, nauseated.
“Honestly, I don’t know how it happened,” he pleaded later, dressed.
“Get out.”
He didn’t leave, but they lived like strangers. Months later, Lucy gave birth to a girl. Helen secretly arranged a paternity test.
Then Nurse Emily burst in. “Dr. Helen! Lucy’s discharged herself—left a note relinquishing the baby!”
Helen had expected this. Perhaps it was for the best.
The test confirmed James was the father. She and her husband adopted the girl, naming her Grace—”God’s gift.” Lucy vanished with an old school flame.
Helen prayed she’d never return.
