Dear Diary,

I believe it was Shakespeare who said, “Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.” Oh boy, was he right. Nothing brings two very different people together better than shared misery.

I know this because when I meet another life-long bachelor, I get star-struck. I think I’d behave the same if I met Spiderman. If the superhero was real, of course. In the current case, Jenny’s misery has forced her to make a confidant of me.

In case you’re late to this party, let me fill you in on the goings-on so far. Jenny is my colleague at the hospital. She is also super religious and preaches ad nauseam about abstinence until marriage. But now she is single and pregnant.

“Thank you,” she says once I complete her pregnancy check. “I couldn’t trust this to anyone else.”

“Why?” I tease. “Because I was first to note you were pregnant?”

“Not so much. Mostly because I feel I can rely on your indiscretion.”

“That comes naturally since I’m a doctor, but you do know you can’t hide this forever, right? People are bound to know you’re… you know, pregnant when your belly—”

“I know how pregnancy works, Tom, but I have a few months before I decide what to do.”

That strikes me as odd. “What do you mean by that? Unless you’re considering an abortion…”

She shakes her head. “Hell no! I’d rather face the wrath of God than kill my baby.”

“So, what are you going to do? Your pastor, choir members, the church in general… they’ll want answers, won’t they?”

“I answer only to God.”

“And he’s a forgiving God.” Now I shake my head. “Isn’t that quite the convenient cop-out? I don’t even understand why one should even be saved or whatever. Just do what you want then ask for forgiveness.”

Only then do I realise she’s in no mood for a religious debate.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “Hope everything works out well for you.”

“Maybe I’ll be lucky and not have a large baby bump,” she says, almost to herself.

“But then the baby will come eventually, right?”

“I could tell people someone dropped it at my doorstep.”

I almost laugh but I don’t. “That would make for an interesting bar story. Then again you don’t go to bars.”

“I might as well now.” She shrugs. “My reputation is basically in ruins.”

“It doesn’t have to be. Just own and damn the consequences. Being a mother is a magical thing. Or so I hear. What about the father? Doesn’t he have a say in all this?”

She shakes her head emphatically. “He can’t know. I won’t tell him.”

“Why not?”

“He stands to lose more than I do.”

“And by that do you mean he’s married? Or high up in government or something?”

“Yes and no.”

“So, what if he’s married? He was there, too. Shouldn’t he share the responsibility?”

She’s silent for a long while, then she says, “I was consoling him after his wife died. One evening I went to his place, cooked him dinner, then we sat on the couch, watching a movie. How I ended up putting on my clothes before I left for home, I don’t know.”

“But there is no shame in that,” I tell her sincerely. “Sounds like a perfect date to me. Without the pregnancy, of course. Then again, I think I’ve been lucky. You know what I think?”

“That I’m a sinner on my way to hell?”

“No. I think you should tell him. There might be shame that his wife had just died, but he was technically not really married.”

“Problem is, he’s my pastor.”