"Baby, Cris said you're not feeling well. Are you okay?" Clark asked, the worry in his voice unmistakable. He found out Angela didn't show up for work when he ran into one of the pharmacists at the hospital.
"Yeah," came a weak, lifeless reply from the other end of the line.
He didn't waste any time. "Okay, I'll be right there." He immediately ended the call and headed to her apartment. Luckily, he had just finished his last appointment for the day, so there was nothing stopping him from going.
When he arrived, he found Angela pale, slouched on the sofa, and clearly drained of energy.
"You take a rest and wait for me, I'll just cook something for you," he said. He kissed her forehead before heading to the kitchen to make some soup.
"Here, have some soup," he offered, holding the bowl close to her. She quietly complied and slowly sipped the broth. But shortly after finishing the soup and drinking some water, she suddenly stood up and rushed to the bathroom.
"Baby!" He immediately followed. He gently rubbed her back as she clung to the toilet, vomiting everything she had eaten. His concern deepened. If it were up to him, he would've taken her to the hospital right then. But he knew better—he had to calm the situation first. He couldn't make a decision without her agreement.
"I think we need to go to the hospital," he carefully suggested. He knew she wasn't fond of hospitals—ironic, since they both worked there. He noticed the way she looked at him, as if she wanted to say something but didn't have the strength.
"Penny for your thoughts?" he asked, gently holding her hand.
Angela only shook her head. He didn't push her. He knew her well—he knew she needed to process things in her own way. In the years they'd been friends, and the months they'd been together, he had learned to respect her space.
What he didn't know was that he himself was the one on her mind. Despite feeling weak, Angela was filled with gratitude. Through everything she had endured since moving to San Francisco, Clark never changed—he was always there, always dependable.
"What would've happened to me if Clark wasn't in my life?" Angela thought silently. "Of all people, the one I never expected to stick around through anything is the one who stayed."
Sometimes, she wondered why Clark had never had a girlfriend before. She never imagined she was the one he had been waiting for. If only she had known, maybe it wouldn't have taken seven years for them to finally admit their feelings. They'd been around each other nearly every day—at work, with friends—and they were always teased.
"I never thought I'd learn to love again, and even more than what I felt for Darius. This is something entirely different—hard to explain. I just feel so at peace and everything feels lighter when I'm with him. He brings a different kind of joy to my life, and for that, I'm so thankful, God. Even though I lost my whole family, there's a Clark who makes me feel that I'm not alone—aside from my relatives."
But back then, Angela thought it was impossible Clark still had feelings for her. She assumed they were long gone. Turns out, she was wrong. He had just been waiting for the right time—for when she would be ready to love again.
Clark knew everything—especially the painful memories from her past relationship. And despite all her fears and doubts, she couldn't deny how much he cared for her.
And even though she didn't need reminding, he still gently encouraged her to see a doctor. In the end, she nodded. She was too tired to argue. Her strength was fading.
While waiting outside the emergency room, Clark was restless. He tried not to overthink, but anxiety was stronger than logic. He wanted to call Angela's cousin Dylan, but held himself back. He needed to wait for a diagnosis before telling anyone.
Moments later, the ER doors opened. He stood up as soon as he saw the doctor approach.
"Doc, how is she?" he asked, his voice tight with worry.
The doctor smiled. "She's six weeks pregnant. Congratulations!"
It took several seconds for the words to sink in.
"What?" he whispered, stunned and uncertain.
"She's pregnant," the doctor repeated, more clearly. "You're about to become a father."
It felt like a grenade went off in his chest. He took a step back, his palms turning cold. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He didn't know what to feel—shock? anger? confusion? jealousy?
Was there something he didn't know?
They had been dating for a few months, but nothing had ever happened between them. So how? "How did this happen?"
He couldn't concentrate. He couldn't go into the room like this. He needed air.
He went straight to the cafeteria. Bought some water, sat down, and tried to calm himself. He didn't want to face Angela while he was overwhelmed with emotion. He didn't want to be unfair. He knew that no matter how confused he was, what she was going through was far more difficult.
But no matter how hard he tried to control his thoughts, one question kept echoing in his mind:
"Did something happen to Angela that I don't know about?"
He didn't know where the fear was coming from—was it about betrayal? trauma? something else? With so many questions, he didn't know which one to address first.
Meanwhile, Angela was still lying in the ER, silent and blank.
She still couldn't believe what the doctor had said. She was pregnant.
She also didn't know how to face Clark. She wasn't sure if he had heard everything—if he already knew the truth.
And if he did, why hadn't he come back?
She tried to calm herself, but couldn't help but wonder: had Clark already left her?
At the same time, Clark thought of calling his mother. But that might make things worse—he knew how quickly his mom could react in situations like this. He wasn't sure he could handle that right now.
And in the middle of it all, one question kept haunting him:
"Who's the father?"