Ring ring…my mobile phone goes off and stops. And, again, it rings, stops, rings, stops, and finally gives in, and the immediate silence takes over. It must have been my father phoning me about my hospital appointment yesterday. He has been so worried about my pregnancy. Since I got pregnant, he has been asking about every movement I make. It is rather annoying. “Sorry, Dad,” I mutter to myself, “I don’t feel like talking to you now.” My voice reverberates, hitting the white wall opposite my bed, quite eerie. I am so tired. Last night I couldn’t sleep well, feeling nauseous and waking up a few times to go to the loo. On top of that, I had this nightmare where I was surrounded by a bunch of strangers trying to hold me and tie me: one of them recognised me, but I couldn’t recall who he was. He was crying. The saddened expression he wore broke my heart. In and out of the nightmare, I managed to fall asleep till morning birds outside screeched and woke me up. A bird should chirp, not shriek. It was so loud that the scream penetrated through the closed double-glazed window. Fidgeting and turning to go back to sleep, a jumble of thoughts that had been lurking in the nooks and crannies of my brain caught my attention: first, it was about Nick’s promotion. He will get promoted but he needs to transfer to Singapore in September and work there for 5 years. He insists that I should follow him. His arguments are that living in Singapore will be good for us, especially our unborn baby, and that we can be much better off financially by earning passive income from renting out our flat. I know that if we live there, we will have a rent-free, luxurious 4-bedroom flat in the company complex, with a gym, an indoor swimming pool, and a sauna in the basement. And a fantastic outdoor children’s playground, indoor activities, classes, a hospital, a department store and whatnot, are all in one place, surrounded by beautiful trees and flowers in a well-secured complex. In September, my baby will be around 5 months old, so he will be able to travel by air. But it is easier said than done. I can’t leave my father all alone here, especially since his rheumatoid arthritis is getting worse, and the signs of dementia have started showing in his behaviour. Once, I asked my father to sell his house and move into a good, reputable private care home in Surrey. I read reviews about the home. 4.9 out of 5 stars: It is pricey but luxurious, and the care, I am sure, that the elderly patients receive will be superb. In addition to these, he will meet new friends who share the same interests as my father, which will make him feel less lonely than living in his house all by himself. But he wasn’t happy about my suggestion and told me he wouldn’t sell the house and would die in his own home. Obviously, the house means a lot to him. It has kept his sad and happy memories and stories: some have been told, some forgotten, and some denied and buried. This was the house where I spent my childhood, lost my mum and was given love and care by my father, who became a widower when I was 5 years old. My mum died while giving birth to my brother. We called him Matthew, but he also left us to live with Mum in heaven, 6 months later. I barely remember him, except that he cried a lot. Two deaths in less than a year must have struck my father a big blow. But he had never shown his grief in front of me. Instead, he gave me only his smiles, encouragement, and love.

Lingering in the labyrinth of thoughts, I have suddenly realised the half side of our shared queen-size bed is empty and cold, with no trace of the warmth Nick has left behind in sleep. Nearly every morning since the day I found out I was pregnant, I have overslept, failing to see him off to work. The would-be proud father, my husband, Nick, has been so careful around me, like an acrobat walking a tightrope, lest he make a mistake that could cause unnecessary discomfort between us. He just wanted to offer me absolute tranquillity. He has been waiting for so long to have a baby, and when I showed him the pregnancy test, the red line, he couldn’t believe that I was pregnant after years of failure. Actually, my pregnancy saved 10 years of our marriage. I am not sure what would have happened to us if I weren’t pregnant, because we had started drifting apart. Nevertheless, the unexpected news brought such joy and united us in love once again.

Lying in bed, drowning in nostalgic memories, I remember that the antenatal course will start in a couple of hours. I glance at the bedside alarm clock, which reads 10, and pick up my mobile phone next to it: missed calls. I am confident that none of them needs urgent attention from me: It can wait. I have ample time to get ready and leave home. I get up to get ready. After the morning hygiene rituals, I get dressed and draw the curtains open, greeted by the delightful sunlight that bursts in, leaving me momentarily blind. Blinking my eyes as though to shake off the blindness, I see the glorious day through the windows: people sitting on the bench, soaking up the sun and watching the bright world flow around them. The aged oak tree outside stands grandly, harmonising with the beautiful setting on a bright spring day. Just a week ago, it was freezing and raining. But those moments have passed, only to live on in our memories, and soon those memories will be tainted and forgotten. Last week, I had to get an Uber, but today, I will walk there. I still have an hour or so: there is a tree-lined, traffic-free pathway through the park, across the road opposite our flat, that links to the high street where the clinic is located.

I step outside the flat into the dimly lit corridor and lock the door. My flat is one of 4 on the second floor of a converted Victorian house: there are no windows in the corridor, and it smells of damp. But this is our first home, and we are very proud of it. When we moved in, we gave it a facelift: the usual things people do to their new home. Carefully holding on to the staircase rail, I descend to the main entrance, where the daylight can only be permitted through the glass panel on the wooden door, into the corridor. I push the door and close it behind me.

“Mrs Clark?” A familiar face, walking towards me in the midst of crowds, greets me.

“Hi, Dr Chang, how are you?”

“You need to go back to your room. It’s not safe, and it will be lunchtime soon.”

“Oh, dear. I don’t want to miss it, but I need to attend the antenatal course. Today, I will be taught the breathing technique I can use during labour. By the way, out of curiosity, what are we having?

“Well, Today is the ‘Veggie Delight’ day with the chicken marinated in Korean style, followed by chocolate lava cake. You don’t want to miss it, do you?”

“Well, how about the course? That breathing technique will help me a lot, I am sure.”

“Don’t worry, Mrs Clark. You can attend the afternoon course after lunch. I will make sure you don’t miss it. Let’s get back in.”

“Oops! My baby has just kicked my tummy. He must be hungry too.” Feeling exuberant, I caressed my tummy and followed Dr Chang.

Sitting on a lounge chair by the big glass sliding door, taking in the last glimpse of sun setting, I check my mobile phone. It’s weird. I saw there were missed calls in the morning before I left home. I couldn’t recall that I deleted them. I try to call my father, but the phone is dead. How odd! I try it again but the same result. I phone Nick. There goes the ringing.

“Hello.” I hear an unfamiliar voice on the other end of the line.

“Hello, who is this? Where is Nick?” I demand to know.

“Sorry, you must have the wrong number.” He says, then cuts off the phone.

I check my mobile just in case I placed wrong call and call Nick again. A few times of ringing, the same man answers the call.

“I am really sorry to bother you. Is it 09751432?”

“Yes. It is correct.”

“I am trying to call my husband on this number. As far as I concern, this is my husband’s”

“Sorry, it is my number.”

“Do you know my husband?”

“I don’t know your husband at all. Look! I’ve got to go.” He hangs up.

Sitting, confused, with a throbbing headache, I see a woman walking towards me with a dishevelled-looking man in his mid-20s.

“Mrs Clark, how is the evening? Today, you have a visitor.” She turns her head, looks at him and says,

“Your son is here.”

“Please call me Harry. Can you just give us a moment?”

“OK, Harry. If you need help, just give me a buzz. There is a bell.” Pointing at the emergency bell fixed on the front desk in the lounge, she continues, whispering to him, “Don’t get fooled by her age and frailty. She can be violent and strong, and maybe attack you.”

“Thanks. I will do.”

The man, Harry, waits until the woman is out of sight, then sits on an empty chair in front of me.

“Mum, how are you? I couldn’t come to see you. You know I was in prison. I was released yesterday. I promise you I will be good and take care of you. No more in and out of prison. I love you, Mum.”

“Who are you? I don’t have a son. I am pregnant. Can’t you see this ballooned belly? It is due in less than a week. I have been told it is a boy. I will have a beautiful boy in April.” I look at him straight into his eyes. He’s got the same beautiful eyes as Nick’s, although he looks rough.

“You are scaring me. I am only 37 years old. You are funny.”

“Mum, it’s me. Your Son. Harry. The son you loved so much.”

He places his trembling hands gently on top of mine. His name is Harry, and Harry is crying. Oh, poor man!

Looking over his shoulder at the door, I mutter, “Where is Nick?”

“Mum, Daddy has gone. He cheated on you and left us for a Singaporean woman. Don’t you remember what he had done to us?” His voice is shaking in anger.

What he says is outrageous. My head is beating like a sick person’s heartbeat, so I scream and scream, throwing punches and kicks at him. Because I know if I scream, my head will get better: No more blurry vision and no more I will suffer from deafening silence.

Harry, trying to hold me down, pleads, “Stop. Please, stop it, Mum!”

Two men in blue uniforms run towards us, and now I am sitting, strapped into a wheelchair. One of them gives me an injection, the same one that makes me drowsy. In the hall mirror, as I am wheeled by the uniformed men, I see an old woman in a wheelchair and an unkempt man standing behind.