Nothing Is as It Seems
Before her morning rounds, Nurse Nina slipped into Dr. Helen’s office, leaning in with a hushed tone.
“Dr. Burton, Emily from Ward Five was begging all evening for her clothes and to be discharged. You asked me to let you know.”
“Thank you, Nina. I’ll handle it.” Helen tucked a stray curl back under her cap and made her way to Ward Five.
By the window, a girl lay turned toward the wall.
“Hello, Lucy. What’s the matter?”
Lucy jerked upright, eyes glistening.
“Please let me go home. I can’t stand lying here any longer. At least at home, I could distract myself. Here, it’s just… suffocating.” Her voice cracked as she clutched the sheets.
“Don’t cry. It’s not good for the baby. Unless you’ve changed your mind?” Helen kept her tone firm.
“No. I still want the baby. I feel fine, honestly. I promise I’ll rest at home—no overdoing it. Please?” Lucy managed a fragile smile.
“Very well. Tomorrow we’ll run the tests, do the scan, and if all’s clear, I’ll discharge you.”
“Thank you!” Lucy pressed her hands together, as if in prayer. “I’ll be careful. If anything feels off, I’ll call straight away.”
Helen left the ward, still baffled. How had her son, James—bright, ambitious James—fallen for someone like Lucy? Pale, unremarkable Lucy. He’d had a good job… *Had*. Helen corrected herself bitterly. His choice. And she’d respected it, tried to love Lucy for his sake.
Back in uni, James had been madly in love with Rebecca—vivacious, stunning Rebecca. They made a striking pair. But a year later, Rebecca left him for some foreign bloke. James crumpled. Stopped attending lectures. Helen feared he’d throw away his degree.
Eventually, he pulled himself together. Graduated. Landed a prestigious job. But for years, he barely glanced at another woman. Then he met Lucy—wispy-haired, slight, the polar opposite of bold Rebecca. Maybe he thought someone meek wouldn’t betray him.
“Mum, this is Lucy,” he’d announced that first awkward dinner.
Helen had bitten back a frown. Every Lucy she’d ever known had been two-faced—fragile on the outside, calculating beneath. She prayed the relationship wouldn’t last. They were too mismatched.
When James said they were engaged, Helen swallowed her protest.
“Have you filed the paperwork yet?” was all she asked instead of congratulations.
“Not yet. Aren’t you happy?” His voice wavered.
“What matters is that *you* are.”
He’d given Lucy a diamond ring, which still glimmered on her slender finger. The wedding was set for August. Helen secretly hoped something would change by then—that James would snap out of it.
Then the worst happened.
At a mate’s birthday, James drank. Sent Lucy home in a cab, decided to walk off the buzz. In a dark alley, he saw two men forcing a girl into a car. She screamed for help.
James intervened. One of them stabbed him in the gut. The car sped off. He was found at dawn. Too late.
Helen blamed Lucy. Why hadn’t she insisted he come home with her? Blamed herself, too. Raised him to be like this.
She nearly broke. But she returned to work. And then Lucy was admitted—ten weeks pregnant, threatening to miscarry. James’s baby, she confirmed.
Helen gave Lucy the best care, monitored her closely. She clung to the hope of a grandchild. A boy, preferably. But a girl would do.
Before discharge, Helen asked if Lucy’s mum would be there.
“She doesn’t know,” Lucy admitted, shifting uncomfortably.
“*What?* Why not?”
“She raised me alone. Always feared I’d end up a single mum. And now…”
“But James proposed! You *were* getting married. If we’d known, we’d have rushed the wedding.”
“I wasn’t sure yet. Thought I’d tell her once I knew for certain. Then… I ran out of time.” Lucy’s voice hollowed. “Guess I’ll be raising the baby alone too.”
“You’ve got *us*. You’re carrying James’s child—our grandchild. We’ll help. Did you even tell her you were in the maternity ward?”
Lucy nodded, eyes downcast.
“Maybe you shouldn’t rush home just yet. Stay a bit longer?”
“No. I want to go. I’ll tell her. And… thank you, Dr. Burton. I thought—after James—you’d want nothing to do with me.”
“Don’t be daft. Promise you’ll visit. Call.”
“I promise.”
But Helen didn’t trust it. Someone who lied about one thing could lie about everything.
Days passed. No calls. Helen went to Lucy’s flat. No answer.
Then, returning from a late shift, she heard laughter from the kitchen. Lucy sat at the table, Helen’s husband, Robert, beside her, chatting animatedly.
Lucy’s grin froze when she spotted Helen.
“I didn’t hear you come in,” Robert fumbled. “Just having tea. Why aren’t you wearing shoes?” His gaze darted to Lucy—*wearing Helen’s slippers.*
“Hello, Lucy. I’ve been calling.”
“Lost my phone,” Lucy said quickly. “Came by so you wouldn’t worry. Told Mum everything.” Tears welled.
Robert cleared his throat. “Helen… her mum threw her out.”
Helen sat opposite Lucy. “Don’t cry. Stay with us. You’re family.”
She led Lucy to James’s old room. That night, Helen lay awake. She’d speak to Lucy’s mother tomorrow.
The woman who answered the door was striking—raven-haired, sharp-eyed. Nothing like Lucy.
“You’re Lucy’s mum?”
“Yes. She’s not here.”
“I’m her doctor. And James’s mother. She said you kicked her out.”
The woman smirked. “Doctors don’t usually make house calls.”
“She’s pregnant with my grandchild. Living with us now.”
“I never met James. Shame.” Her voice softened. “What do you want?”
“Lucy needs you. We’ll help, but she needs *you* too.”
The woman snorted. “She’s not as fragile as she seems. Sharp as a tack under that meek act. Trust me—I *know* her.”
At home, Helen replayed those words, remembered how Lucy’s face had shifted when caught in the kitchen.
A fortnight later, Helen left for a conference. Unease gnawed at her. Lucy had chirped about frying chicken for Robert. *Chicken?* She barely cooked.
Helen cut the trip short. Returned near midnight. The bedroom was empty. She flung open James’s door, flicked on the light.
Lucy bolted upright from Robert’s bare shoulder. He blinked, dazed.
“You—you’re back?”
“What the hell is this?” Helen’s voice was steel.
“It’s not what it looks like! Lucy was upset—I just—”
“In *his* bed? His *fiancée*? Carrying his *child*?”
Robert stammered excuses. Helen fled to the kitchen, sickened.
Days later, Lucy vanished. Left a note at the hospital—abandoned the baby.
Helen wasn’t surprised. Maybe it was for the best.
The paternity test confirmed James was the father. Helen and Robert adopted the girl, named her Grace—*God’s gift.*
Lucy? Gone. Moved away with some old school flame.
Helen prayed she’d never return.
