My 10-Year-Old Daughter’s Pregnancy Test Came Back Positive—Then Her Father Pointed at My Husband and Said, “Arrest Him”
PART 3
My heart dropped.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I don’t want to speculate.”
Sophie turned her head toward me.
“Mom?”
I leaned down.
“I’m here.”
“Am I pregnant?”
I swallowed.
“We’re going to find out.”
“But everybody keeps looking at me like I did something bad.”
“You didn’t.”
“Then why is Dad yelling at Mr. Daniel?”
I didn’t have an answer.
Because I was asking myself the same question.
Eric had never trusted Daniel.
Not completely.
I’d told myself it was because Eric had never accepted our divorce.
But now, sitting in that dark room beside my ten-year-old daughter, another possibility entered my mind.
Maybe Eric knew something I didn’t.
The door opened.
A woman in a white coat stepped inside.
“I’m Dr. Patel, the radiologist.”
She pulled the stool closer to the monitor.
“I’ve reviewed the images.”
I felt Sophie squeeze my hand.
“And?”
Dr. Patel looked at me carefully.
“There is no pregnancy.”
I nearly collapsed against the bed.
“What?”
“There is no gestational sac. No embryo. No evidence of a pregnancy.”
Sophie blinked.
“Then why did the test say yes?”
Dr. Patel looked toward me.
“That is exactly what we need to determine.”
My relief lasted approximately three seconds.
Because Dr. Patel continued.
“Sophie does have an unusually elevated beta-hCG level.”
I stared at her.
“What causes that?”
“There are several possibilities. Some are harmless. Some aren’t.”
The room seemed to shrink around me.
“Like what?”
Dr. Patel hesitated.
“Certain ovarian conditions can produce hCG. Some rare tumors can as well. There are also laboratory and medication-related explanations.”
I felt sick.
“You think my daughter has a tumor?”
“No. I’m saying we haven’t identified the cause yet.”
Sophie began crying.
“I don’t want to die.”
I immediately pulled her into my arms.
“You’re not dying.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No,” I whispered. “I don’t. But we’re going to find out.”
Dr. Patel left to arrange additional imaging.
For several minutes, neither of us spoke.
Then Sophie whispered something that made every hair on my arms stand up.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Can I tell you something?”
“Anything.”
She stared at the ceiling.
“Please don’t tell Dad.”
My heart stopped.
“Which dad?”
“Eric.”
I slowly sat beside her.
“What don’t you want him to know?”
She looked toward the door.
“He said I shouldn’t talk about it.”
My mouth went dry.
“Who said?”
Sophie didn’t answer.
I lowered my voice.
“Sophie, sweetheart, I need you to tell me.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“It was before.”
“Before what?”
“Before today.”
My hands became cold.
“Before the hospital?”
She nodded.
“Who told you not to talk?”
She looked directly at me.
“Dad.”
For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.
Eric.
My ex-husband.
Sophie had called him Dad since she was four.
He wasn’t her biological father, but he had always insisted that biology didn’t matter.
He had fought for joint custody after our divorce.
He attended school plays.
He helped with homework.
He took her camping.
He knew her favorite cereal and the name of her stuffed rabbit.
He was the man who had just pointed at Daniel and demanded his arrest.
And now my daughter was telling me that Eric had warned her to keep a secret.
