The next morning, Star was curled up in bed, watching a movie on her laptop. The hospital felt quieter than usual. Just then, the doctor on shift walked in, clipboard in hand.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
"Great!" Star replied with a smile.
"Is the baby kicking yet?" he asked, glancing briefly at the monitor beside her bed.
"I'm only two months and a few days in. He doesn't start kicking until around four or five, right?"
"Right," the doctor said, pausing. "So… you're a student?"
"Yep," she said, popping the 'p.'
"And you're pregnant," he added, more as a judgment than a statement.
"Really? How did you know?" Star asked, feigning curiosity.
"Well… you're juggling books and hormones, moods swinging like pendulums, probably got parents breathing down your neck. I just don't understand why young people mix up life and pleasure. Everything comes in its time, if you're patient."
Star raised an eyebrow.
"You must be quite experienced then. What are you specializing in? Or are you just here doing research?"
The doctor's expression changed. Irritated. He flipped through her file and muttered under his breath.
"Star Shining… Of course, the ones with dramatic names are always the reckless ones."
And with that, he walked out.
Star rolled her eyes.
"Mmm… must be girlfriend trouble this early in the morning. Abeg, who sent me conversation sef?" she muttered.
Alone again, the silence of the hospital closed in. She couldn't wait to be discharged.
Her phone buzzed—video call from Tomas.
She answered.
"Hi, Dad?"
"How are you feeling? Is the treatment going well?"
"Yes, Father. I'm perfectly fine."
"Did the doctor come by? What did he say?"
Star shrugged.
"He was more interested in my personal life than my health. He didn't say anything medical—but I feel okay."
"What did you do to him?" Tomas asked, half-joking.
"Dad! What do you mean, what did I do? The man was about to start giving me lectures. He's not my mom."
Tomas chuckled lightly but then leaned forward.
"Star... anyone can lecture you. Anyone can act as your mother or father. I know you think I don't know you—because I wasn't around much when you were little. But I do know you. I know that when someone asks a stupid question, you fire back. You've got tongue anger—your words might sound playful, but they hit deep."
Star blinked, taken aback.
"You're pregnant now. I know it's not entirely your fault, but people won't see that. Society loves to judge. They'll lecture you whether you like it or not."
Star listened, no longer hiding her emotions.
"You have to get used to that. This is the world we live in. Every child you see, even if it's not yours, is your responsibility. And you owe them guidance, respect. Just like they owe it to you."
She stared at his face on the screen, quiet.
"Do you understand what I'm trying to say, Star?"
Star nodded slowly.
"Yes, Father. In fact… can you extend the lecture? Scold me more. Face me, Dad…"
"Star, I just did—"
"No! All my life, whenever I messed up, you blamed Mom. When I stood up to the neighbor for mocking her, he'd run crying to you. But instead of talking to me, you'd go straight to Mom and scream at her. You never faced me. But today… today you are. And Dad—I want more. I want to feel like a ten-year-old again."
Her voice cracked. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and across the screen, Tomas was crying too.
"Things change, my dear daughter," he said hoarsely. "Life teaches us. Every parent is responsible for their child. One parent shouldn't carry all the blame."
"I miss you, Dad."
"I miss you too, my child. Don't worry—the doctor said you'll be discharged today. I'm eagerly waiting for you."
"Okay, Dad. Bye."
The call ended.
Tomas sat quietly, wiping his eyes when Frieda walked in.
"Wow. I see you two are finally bonding. Didn't think that would ever happen," she said coldly.
"She's my daughter, after all," Tomas replied, voice still heavy.
"Stepdaughter. Anyway, I hope you told them the real plan. My patience is running out."
She left, and Tomas's face turned tense.
Meanwhile, back home…
Daniella noticed his father's red eyes. He walked over quietly and wiped his father's tears.
"Was that Star on the phone?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"Because you always get emotional when you talk about her."
Tomas nodded.
"I do."
"Does she shout at you like Mom?"
"No, son. She doesn't. And your mom doesn't shout at me—she just has a special tone she uses."
"She doesn't shout at anyone. She loves me… and she loves you too," Daniella said softly.
"And Star loves you too," Tomas added.
Just then, Daniello stormed in, tossing a pile of dirty clothes at Tomas.
"I've got soccer at four," he muttered and walked away.
Daniella grabbed him by the wrist.
"So? You think Dad's your maid because he lives here now?"
"What's your problem? I was talking to Tomas!" Daniello snapped.
"Tomas, huh? This Tomas will not wash your clothes."
"Daniella, please," Tomas interrupted. "Let's not fight again—"
"No, Dad. When you weren't here, he washed his own clothes. Now you're back and suddenly you're the maid?"
"Better warn your son, Tomas!" Daniello hissed as he left the room.
"Dad, that's not fair," Daniella said, frustrated. "Do you really think he loves you too?"
He stormed out, leaving Tomas sitting alone again—between guilt and uncertainty.