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His First Love Returned During My Pregnancy
Alexander Hamilton stood at the end of the hospital corridor, the cigarette between his fingers burned down to the filter.
He stared at the crumpled and then smoothed-out prenatal report in his hand. The words were still legible.
Intrauterine pregnancy approximately 4+ weeks, viable embryo.
The word viable stabbed into his vision like a needle.
He remembered Evelyn’s straight-backed figure as she walked away, and the hostile glare Vivian Dempsey had thrown over her shoulder.
Evelyn had never been a fragile woman.
He should have known.
From the first time she stood in the operating room for eight hours straight, to the way she calmly faced down questioning families in the hospital hallway.
There was a cold, unshakable logic in her bones.
Even now, she had arranged the abortion with clinical precision.
No hysterics. No tears. Not even a word to him—the father.
If not for that wallet, if not for that neatly folded prenatal report…
He might never have known how close he’d come to fatherhood.
His phone buzzed again.
The name Annabelle Taylor flashed insistently on the screen.
He muted it and shoved the phone back into his pocket.
At the far end of the hallway, a surgical light glowed.
He didn’t know if it was Evelyn’s operating room.
But he knew that when that light went out, nothing would remain between them.
Ash fell onto the back of his hand, the burn making him flinch.
Suddenly, he remembered the way Evelyn had told him about the pregnancy.
She had just come home from a night shift, her face alarmingly pale.
He thought she was just exhausted.
Until she pulled out the pregnancy test—two clear lines.
"Alexander, we’re going to be parents."
She had smiled so softly then, her eyes bright.
Now, that light was gone.
The operating room door swung open.
A nurse hurried out, holding a clipboard.
"Family of Evelyn Carter?"
He instinctively stepped forward—then froze.
What right did he have to call himself family now?
The nurse gave him a puzzled look before striding off in another direction.
His phone vibrated again in his pocket.
This time, he turned it off completely.
The antiseptic hospital smell suddenly turned acrid.
He turned toward the elevators—only to collide with Vivian at the corner.
She was holding a water bottle, her expression hardening when she saw him.
"What are you still doing here?" Her voice was ice.
He opened his mouth, but no words came.
Vivian scoffed. "Evelyn was right. You didn’t deserve to know."
She brushed past him, leaving behind a faint trace of disinfectant.
As the elevator doors closed, he heard the distant clatter of surgical instruments.
Soft, but piercing.
Like something being severed forever.