Chapter 17
Chapter 17:
He dialed his private investigator.
“I sent you a photo,” Cole said, his voice tight with barely contained fury. “Find out who he is. I want his net worth, his address, and what business he’s in p>
He hung up and stood staring at the image. June was smiling in it — a small, tired smile, but unmistakably real.
She had not smiled at him like that in years.
He threw the phone onto the bed.
“You think you can replace me?” Cole whispered to the empty room. “You think I’ll just let you go? I built you. And I can tear you down — along with anyone who gets in my way p>
The ultrasound gel was cold.
June stared at the monitor. Static. Gray and black noise.
The specialist, Dr. Evans, sighed and set the wand down. She wiped her hands and settled onto her stool, her expression grave.
“Ms. Erickson,” she began. “The damage from the ectopic rupture — and the subsequent infection — combined with your prolonged stress levels p>
𝖮𝗋𝗀𝖺𝗇𝗂𝗓𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗋𝗒 𝗈𝗇
“Just say it,” June said, still staring at the ceiling tiles.
“The rupture caused catastrophic damage to your fallopian tube, and the infection that followed has severely compromised your ovarian blood supply. You have Premature Ovarian Failure p>
Silence filled the small room.
“So I can’t have children,” June said. Her voice did not tremble. It was flat. Emptied of everything.
“Natural conception is highly unlikely. Near impossible p>
June nodded. She sat up slowly, wincing as her abdominal muscles contracted, and pulled her shirt down over the angry red scars.
“Okay,” she said. “Thank you p>
She walked out of the exam room as though moving through water.
She turned the corner toward the pharmacy to collect her painkillers. As she waited, a familiar sound drifted from the private waiting area reserved for concierge patients — a bright, girlish giggle that scraped across her nerves like nails on glass.
“Cole, look! It’s so tiny p>
June went still. She stepped back instinctively, half-concealed behind a large potted plant.
Alycia was holding her phone toward Cole, showing him a photograph of pink baby booties.
Cole sat back in his chair, his expression easy and indulgent. “We’re not even pregnant yet, Aly,” he laughed.
“But we’re practicing!” Alycia giggled, resting a hand on her flat stomach. “I want to be ready. If it’s a girl, I want to name her Hope p>
Cole reached out, pulled her onto his lap, and kissed her forehead. “Whatever you want. We’ll build a nursery in the Hamptons house p>
June stood in the hallway and did not move.
Hope.
They were discussing a future. A family. In the house June had decorated, room by room, over four years. And June stood there with a shattered reproductive system and a diagnosis that had just quietly ended her own.
She wanted to scream. She wanted to walk in there and tell him — I was pregnant. I lost our baby while you were drinking champagne with her. But she could not. Not yet.