Page 22 of Accidental Doctor Daddy

“All right, I’m taking two in the walk-in.” My voice came out thin. Weak. Not me. Two minutes down during lunch rush was dangerous—but right now,so was staying out here.

The second the cooler door sealed behind me, the cold air hit, but instead of relief, it only sharpened the nausea twisting my gut. The usual crisp scent of greens, citrus, and herbs turned sickening.

The kale smelled like compost. The tomatoes like rot. I blinked, expecting to find mold or wilt—but the bins were pristine. Emerald leaves. Crimson skins. Everythinglookedperfect. So why did my stomach lurch like I’d inhaled something foul?

Carrie’s voice came back to me, slithering between the thrum of my heartbeat.“You’ve been off quite a bit lately… Are you sure there isn’t a mini-Ella floating around in there?”

I pressed a hand to my abdomen as dread coiled inside me.

No.

It couldn’t be.

It’s a bug. A flu. Anything but that.

I forced out a breath, but it came shaky and shallow. The vegetables blurred, a cold sweat trickling down my spine.

And yet, somewhere deep down, a quiet voice whispered the truth I wasn’t ready to hear.

I cannot be pregnant. It’s not possible. I’m on the shot. It’s just a flu or something. It has to be.

I tried to comfort myself with thoughts of the shot. My every three-month appointment system had never failed me. I was religious about it. I checked my phone to check when my last crossed out appointment was six months ago.

I had missed the next appointment because it was scheduled the day after I’d been dumped. But I had been on the shot for years. There was no way that one missed shot set me up for a mistake, right?

The rest of the day passed in a blur of forced normalcy. I focused on my work, on the familiar tasks of chopping, sautéing, and seasoning, letting the routine numb my spiraling thoughts.I did everything I could to avoid thinking about the smells and sights and heat, sometimes swiping the fresh mint from the bar to gnaw on. It helped my stomach more than the crackers and ginger ale. But nothing soothed my nerves.

The seed Carrie had planted grew, watered by my rising suspicions and the undeniable symptoms I could no longer ignore.

After my shift, I nearly ran to the nearest pharmacy. I thought about hitting the corner store by my apartment, but Mrs. Bing would have asked too many questions I wasn’t ready to answer. She had run that shop for over thirty years and knew everyone and all the gossip in the neighborhood. If I had bought a pregnancy test there, I would have had a congratulations basket on my doorstep by tomorrow. As much as I loved my neighborhood, I also loved my privacy.

Back in the solitude of my apartment, I locked the bathroom door behind me like it might somehow shield me from the answer I already suspected. The apartment felt too quiet. Too small. The only sound was the crinkle of the test wrapper as my shaky hands ripped it open.

I followed the instructions with clinical precision, heart hammering as if I were about to plate a dish for Michelin inspectors.

Minutes stretched like hours.

When the result appeared, it felt like the air thickened around me.

Positive.

The results stared up at me from that tiny plastic window—merciless, undeniable.

“No, no, no,” I whispered, the words tasting bitter as they left my lips.

For a second, I felt weightless—like the floor had dropped out from under me. The room tilted, but I caught the edge ofthe sink, nails biting into porcelain as I clung to the only steady thing in sight.

But panic was a luxury I didn’t allow myself. Logistics—that was where I lived.

Where I survived.

Outside of creativity, every chef must handle logistics like a pro. Those were the main elements of the job.

So, I considered schedules, finances, maternity leave—all the practicalities of managing an unexpected pregnancy while running a kitchen. Not the implications. Not the reality of what I was contemplating. Only the logistics were allowed to sink in.

But as the evening wore on and the apartment grew quiet, the ugly reality of my situation began to sink in. This wasn’t just a logistical challenge.

It was a life-changing event.

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