That single word hurt almost more than the rest.
For months, Grant had played music against my belly.
He had built furniture.
He had bought tiny Chicago Bears pajamas before we even knew whether we were having a boy or girl.
Yet now our daughter had been reduced to an acceptable risk.
Dr. Ross said, “Get out.”
Grant didn’t move.
Instead, his voice turned colder.
“I know about the malpractice settlement.”
Silence.
“And I know what you owe.”
Another silence.
“You need money. I need a problem solved.”
That was when I understood Grant had not chosen Adrian because he was the best doctor.
He had chosen him because he believed he had found a desperate one.
Then Grant added:
“After Natalie is gone, there won’t be anyone asking questions.”
Dr. Ross said, “I said leave.”
Grant laughed softly.
“You should think about your wife and your sons before you pretend you’re too honorable for this.”
That was no longer an offer.
It was a threat.
I heard movement.
A door opened.
Then closed.
I remained frozen.
A minute later, Dr. Ross entered my room.
I kept my eyes shut.
He stood beside my bed for several seconds.
Then quietly said my name.
“Natalie?”
I did not react.
Finally, he left.
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