He hung up.
He’d used my first name.
In all our strategic talks, it was always “Sullivan.” The formality of “Ms. Sullivan” felt colder than him just saying “Nerissa” to his assistant.
It made this real.
It made me a fact in his world.
The city lights blurred past.
His phone lit up again, buzzing.
I watched him glance at it.
The screen glowed with the name Jovianne.
He watched it ring, his face hard.
It rang again.
He swiped to reject the call, then held the button and powered the whole phone off.
The final click was louder than a shout.
He stared at the dark screen in his hand, not at me.
“My father,” he said, his voice low and stripped of all its usual polished edge, “spent thirty years building a reputation for integrity in business. Not warmth. Integrity. He believed it was the only currency that never inflated.” Vance let out a short, humorless breath that fogged the window.
“One generation to build it. One careless marriage to make it a punchline.”
He’d shut his wife out.
For this.
For my stupid crisis.
The thought was too big.
I let it go.
We reached the hospital right away.
The ER doors hissed open.
A nurse was already there with a wheelchair, her face a blank professional mask.
“Mr. Blackwood? This way.”
His hands were efficient, not kind.
I was glad.
Kindness would have broken me already.
We moved fast down a bright hall, through doors, into a quieter area with blue curtains.
In Bay 3, a woman with a sharp face and a white coat was waiting.
Dr. Evans.
“Vance,” she said with a nod.
Her eyes locked onto me.
“Jane. This is Nerissa. Sudden severe abdominal pain, dizziness, pallor.”
Dr. Evans came to me, a penlight in her hand.
“Nerissa, I’m Dr. Evans. Can you show me where the pain is?”
I pointed.
Her fingers pressed, asking questions.
When did it start?
Any nausea?
Last food?
Last period?
The last question stuck in my brain.
I tried to count.
“Six… maybe seven weeks or more? I’ve been… things have been a mess.”
Dr. Evans and Vance exchanged a look.
A quick, silent conversation that sent a chill straight through me.
The doctor’s next question was quiet.
“Is there any chance you could be pregnant, Nerissa?”
The air was sucked out of the room.
All the sound, the distant beeps, the murmurs, vanished, replaced by a roaring in my ears.
Pregnant. This story is hosted at novelping.com.
The missed period.
The bone-deep tiredness.
The nausea.
The ache that wasn’t like any cramp I’d ever known.
My eyes, wide and scared, flew to Vance.
He, who had been a statue by the curtain, moved.
Just an inch.
A slight, aborted step forward, as if physically intercepting the question.
His hand, which had been hanging at his side, curled into a fist so tight his knuckles blanched against his dark suit pants.
For the first time since I’d known him, he looked like he didn’t have a plan.
He looked like a man watching a timer tick down on a bomb he couldn’t defuse.
His eyes weren’t on the doctor; they were locked on me, waiting for my answer.
I opened my mouth.
And that’s when we heard it.
Right outside the thin blue curtain.
A voice, high and dramatic with panic.
“I need to be seen now! It’s my baby, I’m spotting, I’m pregnant!”
Jovi.
Then a man’s voice, frantic, comforting, a sound that used to be my home.
“Just breathe, Jovi, it’s okay, we’re here. They’re going to help you.”
Zane.
In the frozen, breathless silence of the bay, my stunned eyes locked with Vance’s.
The doctor looked from my face to his, her expression grimly understanding.
“We need an ultrasound. Now,” she said, her voice low and urgent.