Everything Is Not What It Seems
Before her morning rounds, Nurse Nina slipped into the doctors’ office and whispered confidentially:
“Dr. Evelyn, Isla from Ward Five has been begging me all evening to let her go home. You asked me to inform you if anything came up.”
“Thank you, Nina. I’ll take care of it.” Evelyn tucked a loose curl beneath her cap and strode toward Ward Five.
By the window bed, a girl lay facing the wall.
“Hello, Sophie. What’s the matter?”
Sophie twisted around and sat up sharply.
“Please discharge me. I can’t stay here any longer. At home, I’d at least have distractions—something to do. But here…” She sniffled, eyes pleading.
“No tears now, you’ll upset the baby. Unless you’ve changed your mind about keeping it?” Evelyn’s tone was firm.
“No, I haven’t. I feel fine. I promise I’ll rest at home—no exertion. Please let me go. The weather’s so lovely, and I’m stuck in this stuffy ward all day.” A timid smile flickered across her face.
“Fine. Tomorrow, we’ll run tests, do an ultrasound, and if everything’s in order, I’ll discharge you.”
“Thank you!” Sophie clasped her hands together as if in prayer. “I’ll be careful. If anything feels off, I’ll call you straight away.”
Evelyn left the ward, still puzzled. How could her son, so accomplished, have fallen for this pale, unremarkable girl? He’d worked for a prestigious firm—well, *had* worked. She corrected herself mentally. His choice, and she had to respect it. If Oliver loved her, she’d try to love her too.
Back in university, Oliver had been head over heels for bold, striking Amelia—a perfect match. But a year later, Amelia left him for some foreign banker. He’d been heartbroken, skipped lectures for weeks. Evelyn feared he’d drop out entirely.
Eventually, he pulled himself together, graduated, and landed a good job. Yet he’d avoided romance for ages—until he met Sophie. Fair-haired, slight, and plain—the opposite of dazzling Amelia. Maybe he’d thought *she* wouldn’t betray him.
“Mum, meet Sophie,” he’d said the first time he brought her home.
Evelyn had fought not to grimace. Every Sophie she’d ever known had been two-faced—delicate on the outside, steely underneath. She’d hoped their relationship wouldn’t last. Too mismatched.
When Oliver announced his engagement, she bit her tongue.
“Have you filed the paperwork yet?” she’d asked instead of congratulating him.
“Not yet. Aren’t you happy for me?” He’d looked anxious.
“Your happiness matters most,” she’d replied.
He’d given Sophie a diamond ring, which still glimmered on her slender finger. The wedding was postponed till August. Evelyn had hoped time would make him reconsider.
Then the unthinkable happened. At a friend’s birthday, Oliver drank too much. He sent Sophie home in a cab and walked to clear his head. In a dark alley, he saw two men forcing a girl into a car. She fought back, screaming for help.
Oliver intervened. One man stabbed him in the gut. The car sped off, leaving him bleeding on the pavement. He wasn’t found till morning. Too late.
Evelyn blamed Sophie silently. Why hadn’t she insisted he go home with her? Blamed herself too. She’d raised him to be this way.
She’d thought grief would destroy her. But she returned to work. Then Sophie was admitted—ten weeks pregnant, at risk of miscarriage. Oliver’s child, she confirmed.
Evelyn gave her the best care, ensuring she followed every instruction. She clung to the hope of a grandchild—a boy, preferably, but a girl would do.
Before discharge, Evelyn asked, “Will your mother meet you?”
“Mum doesn’t know,” Sophie admitted, flustered.
“How? Why not tell her?”
“She raised me alone. Always feared I’d end up a single mother. And now…”
“But Oliver proposed! Had we known you were pregnant, we’d have rushed the wedding.”
“I wasn’t sure myself. Thought I’d tell her when I knew for certain. Then… I ran out of time.” Sophie hung her head. “Guess I’ll be alone too.”
“You have us. That’s Oliver’s baby—our grandchild. We’ll help. Does your mother even know you were in the hospital?”
Sophie nodded, eyes downcast.
“Maybe you shouldn’t rush home. Stay a bit longer?”
“No. I want to go. I’ll tell her. Dr. Evelyn, thank you. I thought… after Oliver, you wouldn’t care.”
“Don’t be silly. Promise you’ll visit and call.”
“I promise.”
Evelyn didn’t like the secrecy. Liars lied about everything. Sophie and Oliver were too different. How had he fallen for her?
Days passed with no answer to Evelyn’s calls. She went to Sophie’s flat. No one answered.
Then, returning from a late shift, she heard laughter in the kitchen. Sophie sat at the table, Evelyn’s husband, Henry, beside her, chatting animatedly.
Sophie noticed her first, freezing mid-laugh.
“Didn’t hear you come in,” Henry stammered. “Just having tea. Why are you barefoot?”
Sophie wore Evelyn’s slippers.
“Hello, Sophie. I’ve been calling,” Evelyn said evenly.
“Lost my phone. Came by so you wouldn’t worry. Told Mum everything.” Tears welled.
“Evelyn,” Henry cut in, helpless, “…her mother kicked her out.”
Evelyn sat opposite Sophie. “Don’t cry. Stay with us. You’re family.” She braced for chaos.
Henry echoed, “Of course, stay.”
That night, Evelyn lay awake. Should she confront Sophie’s mother?
Next evening, she knocked on the woman’s door. A striking brunette answered—nothing like Sophie.
“Can I help you?”
“Are you Sophie’s mother?”
“Yes. She’s not here.”
“I’m her doctor. And Oliver’s mother. She said you threw her out.”
“Doctors don’t make house calls.” A smirk. “What do you want?”
“Sophie’s pregnant with Oliver’s child. She’s staying with us.”
“Never threw her out. Just gave her a piece of my mind. I raised her alone—no help, no sympathy. Didn’t want this life for her.”
“We’ll support her. She needs you now.”
“She’s sly. Stronger than she looks. Trust me, I know her better.”
Sophie settled in Oliver’s old room. Oddly, she never cooked—until Evelyn left for a conference.
Sophie chirped on the phone: *Making chicken for Henry!*
Evelyn felt uneasy. Sophie never cooked.
She returned early, creeping in at midnight. Their bed was empty. She flung open Oliver’s door, flicked the light.
Sophie jerked up from Henry’s bare shoulder, squinting. He stirred, panicked.
“You’re back?” he mumbled.
“What are you doing?” Evelyn’s voice was ice.
“It’s not what you think. She was crying, I consoled her…”
“In her bed? Our son’s fiancée—pregnant with his child!”
Evelyn fled to the kitchen, nauseous.
Henry followed, dressed, groveling. “I fell asleep. I don’t know how—”
“Leave me alone.”
Sophie vanished the next day. Months later, she gave birth—a girl—then fled, leaving a note: *I can’t do this.*
DNA confirmed Oliver’s paternity. Evelyn and Henry adopted the baby, naming her Grace—”God’s gift.”
Sophie disappeared with an old flame.
Evelyn hoped she’d never return.
