Confused

Morgan's point of view 

I looked around the bar, the place was dimly lit, the sound of low conversation and clinking glasses filling the air. 

I slid onto a stool at the bar and gestured to the bartender.  

“Whiskey,” I said.  

The bartender nodded and poured me a drink without a word. I grabbed the glass, downing half of it in one gulp, allowing the hot taste of the alcohol to burn my throat.

I set the glass down and stared at the amber liquid, my mind replaying the doctor’s words over and over again. The conversation hadn’t lasted long, but every detail was burned into my memory.

FLASHBACK 

I got a call from my doctor one Monday morning.

Morgan, your test results are out, we need to talk about it immediately, he said.

"Is there a problem?" I asked, worried at his tone.

"See me as soon as possible," he said, handing the call.

Doctor Allen has always been a man of few words.

I'm sure all he wants to do is to complain about my busy schedule and give me a lengthy lecture about how important it is to take a break and have lots of rest.

It was the normal routine, and so I didn't take his words seriously.

However, I stopped at the hospital three days later.

I sat down casually, expecting his normal lecture, but instead he adjusted his glasses several times, as if he was finding it hard to find the right words to use.

Eventually, he spoke up, looking straight into my eyes.

"Your test results show that you have a low sperm count. That means…..you may never be able to father a child of your own."

"What … .what are you saying?" I stammered.

He adjusted his glasses again and repeated his sentence.

"I’m sorry Morgan, but the results show that you may never be able to father a child of your own."

I was quiet for a while, trying to decipher the words and their meaning. I stared at the elderly man, hoping I would see a smile on his face, proving he was joking with me, but nothing of such. 

He started explaining that my condition, likely stemming from a combination of genetics and environmental factors, had left my fertility severely compromised. 

"There were treatments, but none of them guaranteed success. And so, the odds of you fathering a child naturally is slim to none," he said.

I just nodded through the explanation, barely able to speak. Nothing prepared me for this. How was I to explain to my dad, who had been disturbing me about marriage and giving me grandchildren? He even threatened not to hand the company over to me if I didn't settle down in the next year and have a child immediately.

I never bothered about having kids because i thought it was a natural part of my future, but I guess I was wrong.

Again, fate had other plans, plans I wasn't included in.

I left the office as soon as I could, the weight of the news pressing down on me.  

I collected a supplement he gave me, but I wasn't really interested in using it. After all, he did say they had slim success.

So what's the point in using them, I thought, throwing the container at the back of my car.

END OF FLASHBACK 

As I sat there in the bar, I couldn’t shake the anger bubbling inside me. Anger at myself, at my body for betraying me, at the universe for being so damn unfair. I drained the rest of my whiskey and signaled for another.

As the bartender poured my second drink, my thoughts drifted to Marrissa.

Marissa is two weeks pregnant. That's exactly the time we spent together, but how could that be possible? How can I be a father? 

If what the doctor said was true, there was no way Marrissa’s child could be mine.  

I took a long sip of whiskey, the bitterness seeping into my thoughts. 

The idea that Marrissa might have been involved with someone else was very unlikely, the time interval wouldn't add up.  

What if there was someone else after I met with her, someone who could be the father of her child?  

And then there was the thing that didn’t make sense, the thing that didn’t fit into the puzzle.  

Marrissa was a virgin when we met.  

I remembered our night together, how tight she had been, how she cried out in pain when I inserted my penis inside her. 

That sensation had kept me thinking about her after that night, had made my penis crave for her every night.

But now, that memory has made everything even more confusing. If Marrissa had never been with anyone else, then how could she be pregnant?  

The thought sent my mind spinning in circles. Maybe the doctor was wrong. Maybe there was some mistake. But no matter how many times I tried to convince myself of that, the facts didn’t change.  

I gripped the edge of the bar, my knuckles turning white. The whiskey wasn’t helping. If anything, it was making my thoughts darker, more chaotic.  

I need answers, I whispered.

I needed to speak with Marrissa, to figure out what the hell was going on. 

The bartender walked by, and I waved him over. “Another,” I said, my voice low and rough.  

The bartender hesitated for a moment, then poured me another glass. I stared at it, the amber liquid catching the dim light.  

As I sat there, my mind racing, a new thought occurred to me—one that sent a chill down my spine.  

What if my doctor was wrong? What if I am the father of Marissa's child?  

I gripped the glass tighter. I didn’t have the answers yet, but one thing was clear: I would never be involved with Marrissa.

I wouldn't reject my responsibility, but that will be it. I'm only interested in my child.

I drained the rest of my whiskey, set the glass down, and stood up, my mind made up.  

But as I left the bar and stepped into the cool night air, a flicker of doubt still lingered in the back of my mind.