Go to the clinic and talk to the manager

You and Alex stare at each other for a stunned second, then move at the same time—throwing on clothes, grabbing keys, barely speaking as you race to his truck and speed toward the city clinic.

You burst through the doors demanding to see the doctor who administered the trial ****. The receptionist pales at your expression and buzzes you straight back.

The same middle-aged doctor meets you in an exam room, looking wary. “Miss Doe. I assume this isn’t the scheduled follow-up.”

“You gave me a **** that was supposed to be instant birth control,” you say, voice trembling. “It failed. I’m pregnant. Explain.”

He frowns, gestures for you to sit on the table. “The compound is still in Phase II trials. There were risks clearly outlined. Also, how could you possibly know, merely one day later, that you are preg—”

“We need to know exactly why it failed,” Alex cuts in.

The doctor looks confused between you two for a second, but then nods professionally. “Very well. A gynecological exam will give us the most accurate data. Please undress from the waist down and get into the stirrups.”

You comply, mortified but **** for answers. Alex stays, gripping your hand tightly as the doctor spreads your slender thighs and fixes them in the chair, granting him access to your most private parts.

The doctor inserts the speculum and immediately freezes.

“My lord…” he breathes, eyes widening behind his glasses.

He reaches for a long swab and begins gently scooping. Once. Twice. Then again and again. Thick, viscous ropes of semen—far beyond any normal residual amount—cling to the tools and fill the specimen tray in heavy, obscene quantities. He switches to a second tray, then a third, working carefully while his expression shifts from clinical focus to genuine astonishment. A seemingly endless stream of cum pours out of you.

When he finally withdraws, he stares at the collected volume in open disbelief.

“This is… unprecedented,” he says, almost to himself. “The trial protocol accounted for multiple ejaculations, of course, but we never anticipated retention on this scale—such prolonged internal volume without significant drainage. Your partner surely is one exceptionally virile specimen! Also, most participants… well, most women urinate shortly after intercourse, which naturally expels a large portion. We simply didn’t model for couples maintaining this level of seminal fluid inside for hours—overnight, even—across repeated sessions. Not unless they had a sheer animalistic urge to breed. In which case they wouldn't use our medication in the first place.”

He looks up at you both, a mix of scientific fascination and sincere remorse on his face.

“I am truly sorry. The compound’s failure mode under **** seminal overload was theoretical—a footnote in the risk assessment. Your case has revealed a critical flaw we hadn’t observed in prior volunteers. The sustained alkaline environment completely reversed the spermicidal effect.”

He removes his gloves, expression softening. “On behalf of the research team, I apologize for the outcome. But…alas I regret to inform you that the medical waiver you signed gives you no claim whatsoever against our clinic in case of severe side effects. That includes an unwanted pregnancy. Again, thank you for bringing us this valuable research and congratulations on the pregnancy."

The words land like lead. There’s no undoing this. You’re staying Jen.

And you’re going to be a mother.