I woke up that morning with a dull ache in my stomach and my emotions all over the place. It wasn’t new. I had come to recognise the signs; that was my body’s way of announcing ovulation. Still, every time it came, I wished I could skip the whole menstrual cycle drama. The mood swings, the cravings, the constant overthinking, it was exhausting. I often caught myself wondering if it was even necessary at all.

Yet, I couldn’t help but laugh when I remembered that one time in June when I begged for what I usually hated the most: my period. I had never longed for it so desperately as I did that month.

June was wild. Steven and I had just started dating, and it felt like we couldn’t get enough of each other. We were always in each other’s faces, doing all the silly, dirty, fun things new lovers do; sharing food, stealing kisses in public, sending naughty texts, sneaking quick touches, and laughing about nothing. It was intoxicating.

Then there was that particular night after we came back from the club. We were both tipsy, high on alcohol and high on each other. He was already a good lover, but when he was tipsy, he turned into something else entirely: rougher, hungrier, wilder. That night, I knew I was in for it.

The moment we closed the door, we were on each other. The kissing was desperate, like we were breathing each other in. I could feel the heat building between us, and when he finally slid into me, it felt different. My body screamed with pleasure, the sensation so sharp and new that I gave in completely. There’s a way you just know when he releases inside you; I felt it. And instead of panicking in the moment, I allowed myself to enjoy it. The cold rush, the intensity, we both came hard.

It wasn’t until afterwards, when he rolled over to sleep, that reality struck me. We had just had unprotected sex. I tried to tell him, but he waved me off, mumbling something about being tired. The next morning, I bought a contraceptive and used it. Steven reassured me that I’d be fine, that there was nothing to worry about, and that even if the worst happened, we would handle it together. Still, I told him we needed to avoid sex for a while. He didn’t like the idea, but I insisted.

From that day, I waited anxiously for my period. The supposed date came, and nothing happened. No spotting, no cramps, nothing. My fear grew. I didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but the thought of pregnancy haunted me. My dreams, my plans, everything felt like it was about to scatter. And to be honest, I wasn’t even sure I wanted Steven to be the father of my child.

Two weeks later, I couldn’t take it anymore. I told Steven. By then, I had already convinced myself I was pregnant, even without a test. His reaction shocked me.

“Do the needful,” he said casually. “I’ll send you some money.”

At first, I didn’t understand. Then I asked, “What do you mean?”

Without looking at me, he replied, “Let’s have an abortion. I can’t be a father now.”

I stared at him, speechless. This was the same man who had once said, “We’ll handle it together.” My heart sank. Of course, I wasn’t ready for a baby either, but I expected more from him, at least some encouragement. At that moment, I knew I was with the wrong person. I left his house quietly, carrying a new kind of ache in my chest.

On my way home, something told me to confirm. I stopped at the hospital for a test. The doctor smiled as he explained that my body was only reacting to hormones. I wasn’t pregnant. Relief washed over me so strongly that I barely heard the rest of what he said.

I didn’t bother telling Steven. I blocked him everywhere and moved on. That pregnancy scare taught me more than anything that sometimes life gives you a false alarm, so you can see people for who they truly are.

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