It’s quite common for doctors in the same hospital to pull some strings, bringing in themselves or friends and family for tests or checkups—usually to save some money.

Since everyone in the departments are colleagues, they tend to turn a blind eye. For these kinds of tests, they usually don’t ask for names or record patient information; they just hand the results directly to the doctor who brought the person in.

Although it was a bit odd that Eric Bennett still insisted on paying, the on-duty doctor in the lab didn’t ask any questions, just gave him a definite answer: “The results might come out a bit later, so don’t wait up. Check them tomorrow morning.”

Eric Bennett: “Okay.”

But tonight, unusually, Eric Bennett didn’t fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. He didn’t want to admit he was having insomnia—it was because he was waiting for the lab results.

He couldn’t say why, but it all felt absurd. He was a man; even if he was showing symptoms similar to pregnancy, it was impossible for him to actually be pregnant. Still, Eric Bennett just couldn’t sleep.

The test he’d asked the lab to run was for human chorionic gonadotropin, a common marker checked in early pregnancy. But even if it was elevated, it didn’t necessarily mean pregnancy—it could also indicate pituitary dysfunction, or a number of malignant tumors.

Eric Bennett even seriously considered which would be more devastating: cancer or pregnancy.

Brian Sullivan’s face kept flashing through his mind, and even many details from that night, which he’d previously forgotten, slowly returned to his memory.

He waited for the results, growing more and more agitated, feeling like he was losing his mind.

A professional OB-GYN, unable to sleep in the middle of the night, all because he was wondering if a man could be pregnant—if word got out, his colleagues would laugh their heads off.

Yet when his phone chimed with a notification, he immediately unlocked it and opened the file sent by the lab doctor.

On the fresh report, in black and white, there was only one marker.

Eric Bennett stared so hard at the test sheet it was as if he could burn a hole through it. He fixed his gaze on that familiar marker and the sky-high value next to it, coming to an obvious conclusion.

Either the machine was broken, or the world had gone mad.

He practically jumped out of bed in the middle of the night and dialed Evelyn Turner’s number.

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Author’s note:

I saw there’s another bottle of nutrient solution—thank you, little angel! I checked this time and it seems to be the same reader as before, but your nickname shows up as blank on my end, maybe because you haven’t set one, and I can’t see your ID either (the auto-thank usually shows the ID, but I’m used to typing out the list myself), so I don’t know how to address you… So, thank you to the mysterious blank classmate for the nutrient solution and your support, hhh! And a huge thank you to all the cuties who leave comments—I see them all and always give a like and remember you~ Thank you for your support!

Chapter 8 Diagnosis

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Half an hour later, at a private OB-GYN hospital in City A.

Evelyn Turner was yawning as he set up the ultrasound equipment, barely able to keep his eyes open. “What are you doing up so late instead of sleeping?”

Evelyn Turner was a college classmate of both Eric Bennett and Brian Sullivan. He switched to radiology during specialization, and later left the hospital for a private practice—supposedly for an easier life. He and Eric Bennett had always been close, so even though he was dragged out of bed in the middle of the night, he only grumbled a little.

“I might have a terminal illness.”

Evelyn Turner was still groggy. “Huh?”

Eric Bennett handed him his phone, the screen paused on the recent test report.

“Damn, that hCG level is so high. Your girlfriend?” Evelyn Turner said in surprise. “Never heard you mention dating anyone. You move fast—already having a kid.”

Eric Bennett was silent for a moment, then said to Evelyn Turner, “It’s mine.”

“Of course I know the kid’s yours, I mean—”

“The test result,” Eric Bennett interrupted, expressionless. “It’s mine.”

Evelyn Turner snapped awake, grabbing Eric Bennett’s arm in disbelief. “What did you say?” His voice shot up an octave. “Holy crap, with a value this high, this… this…” He stammered on “this” for ages but couldn’t finish the sentence, finally just staring, dumbfounded, as Eric Bennett lay down on the exam bed with a cold face.

Evelyn Turner reached for the ultrasound gel, muttering under his breath, “Don’t tell me it’s really cancer…”

Eric Bennett took the gel from him, undid his belt, lifted his shirt, and quickly applied the gel before looking at Evelyn Turner.

The latter was holding the ultrasound probe, staring at Eric Bennett in utter shock, having forgotten how to move. Impatient, Eric Bennett took the disinfected probe and pressed it to his own lower abdomen.

He might not be a radiology specialist, but he was very familiar with basic abdominal ultrasounds. Evelyn Turner knew this too, so he didn’t interfere. His mind was still stuck on that abnormal test result, worrying that Eric Bennett was terminally ill, not even daring to look at the monitor.

After a long internal struggle, he finally covered his eyes with his hand, peeking through a gap to sneak a look at the screen.

But as he looked, he suddenly froze.

“Holy shit.”

“Shut up.”

Eric Bennett clenched his jaw, expressionless, tearing his gaze away from the black-and-white screen. After a long time, he stiffly lowered his head a little, looking down at his still-flat abdomen.