2

A month later, I returned to New York, utterly exhausted from the trip. At least my hard work had paid off, and I had enough money to cover rent for a month or two. However, those months flew by, and it didn't take long for me to realize that my period was late.

For the first week, I brushed it off as a delay, but as another week passed, worry crept in. I found myself reminiscing about Axel, even though I was upset about his abrupt departure without a proper farewell. We'd shared great moments, but we were fundamentally different—me, cheerful and carefree, and him, a somber, serious man. It could never have been anything more.

Nevertheless, after consulting a doctor about my missed period, I couldn't help but ponder the possibility. In the sterile, white examination room, I underwent a battery of tests until the doctor gravely asked, "Have you engaged in unprotected intercourse recently?"

"Um, no," I initially replied. Then, a memory of Axel Linden surfaced.

"I think you should take a pregnancy test," the doctor recommended.

Leaving the office, my stomach churned like a bag of nails, and I felt queasy. Panic set in as I contemplated morning sickness. I frantically looked it up on my mobile phone while on the bus, but I remained bewildered about what to do.

Then, I remembered that I had saved his phone number. Perhaps I could call him for advice or just to talk about it. I hadn't shared my Bali encounter with anyone else. My friends knew Alan, and I feared their harsh judgment if I disclosed the affair.

So, I dialed his number. Despite his gruff exterior and his sudden departure, I considered Axel mature and responsible enough to confide in with my secret.

However, my first call went unanswered. I decided to give him some space, thinking, "If that's the way you want to play it."

After taking a pregnancy test that revealed a positive result, I called him again, only to be met with silence.

Finally, in a moment of desperation, I called him for the third time, and yet again, it went straight to voicemail. My words were frantic and desperate: "Axel? It's Linda. We met in Denpasar. I need your help. I don't want anything from you, but please, get in touch with me." I provided my phone number, my address, everything. But I couldn't bring myself to admit what was wrong, not even to myself.

With no response from him, I resorted to searching for information about him online. To my surprise, Axel Linden was more than just a run-of-the-mill business traveler.

He was a multimillionaire.

About a month later, when a letter arrived at my doorstep, it became clear to me that I was better off without him. Axel Linden appeared to be a pitiful, despondent man who seemingly regarded our encounter as a colossal mistake and couldn't fathom the possibility of a more significant error.

From that day forward, I considered myself fortunate. I believed I had narrowly escaped involvement with a truly unpleasant individual, as I gazed at the contents of the letter. Fortunately, I wouldn't have to see him again. The letter contained a sum of money along with a note that simply said, "I'm sorry."