Sal navigated the clogged Manhattan streets with instinctual grace, keeping the black Porsche in sight. It finally pulled over in front of a discreet, elegant brownstone. Elisha recognized the building instantly.
It was Dr. Alistair's clinic. One of the most exclusive and private OB-GYN practices in the city.
A cold dread, heavier and more suffocating than anything she had ever felt, settled over Elisha. Her hands fumbled with the cash as she paid Sal. She put on her oversized sunglasses, a flimsy shield against the devastating reality she was about to face, and pushed open the car door. Her legs felt like lead.
Hartley and the woman in the white dress had already disappeared inside.
Elisha walked through the heavy glass doors into a waiting room that looked more like a five-star hotel lobby. Soft lighting, expensive art, and hushed quiet.
She saw them immediately.
They were in a secluded seating area across the room. Elisha quickly ducked behind a large potted palm, her heart stopping in her chest.
Hartley was holding the woman. He had his arms wrapped securely around her waist, his hand gently stroking her back. He was leaning down, his forehead pressed intimately against hers, murmuring something soft and reassuring. The gesture was so tender, so full of a gentle concern that he hadn't shown Elisha in years.
The woman lifted her head, and as the soft light caught her features, Elisha's world tilted violently on its axis.
Amaris Leblanc.
The breath was knocked from Elisha's lungs. Amaris. His childhood sweetheart. His college girlfriend. His elite family had deemed unsuitable and forced him to abandon. The woman he had sworn was just a distant memory from his past.
The shock was so profound it manifested physically. The room began to spin. The nausea that had been a dull ache all morning surged with the force of a tidal wave. She clutched her stomach, a strangled gasp escaping her lips.
She couldn't be sick here. She couldn't faint in front of them. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing her break. She stumbled back, her hand finding the wall for support.
"Ma'am? Are you alright?" A nurse in crisp white scrubs was suddenly at her side. "You're very pale. Let's get you into a room."
Elisha was too weak to protest. The nurse led her into a small, empty examination room, helping her onto a plush chair and handing her a cup of water.
"No doctor," Elisha managed, her voice hoarse. "I'm fine. Just... a dizzy spell."
The quiet of the room gave Elisha a moment to process the impossible. Hartley and Amaris. Here. Together. The kindness of the nurse felt like a cruel joke in the face of the utter devastation wrecking her from the inside.
After a few minutes, the spinning subsided, replaced by a hollow, aching emptiness. She had to get out. She couldn't risk them seeing her.
She thanked the nurse and stepped back into the hallway. She turned the corner and froze.
She had run straight into them.
Hartley was walking out of a consultation room, his arm wrapped protectively around Amaris's waist. They were so close, their heads bent together in intimate conversation. They hadn't seen her yet.
Amaris was leaning against Hartley's shoulder, her hand resting on his chest. It was a picture of domestic bliss. A picture that had once been Elisha's entire world.
And then she heard the words that would shatter her life into a million irreparable pieces.
"The doctor said the baby is developing perfectly," Amaris said, her voice a sweet, happy murmur, her hand resting gently on her flat stomach. "Everything is right on track."
Hartley's face broke into a smile. A real one. A smile of pure, unadulterated joy. The kind of smile Elisha had dreamed of seeing when she gave him the Hermès box. He reached out and gently tapped Amaris's nose, a gesture so playful and loving it made Elisha want to scream.
"You need to rest now," Hartley said softly. "Whatever you want to eat, I'll have the chef make it."
"Thank you, Hartley," Amaris cooed, looking up at him with adoring eyes. "Be good, little baby."
The word echoed in the silent hallway. Baby.
The emergency phone call. The panicked rush from his office. The OB-GYN. It all clicked into place with sickening clarity.
Her hand flew to her own stomach, a reflexive, protective gesture. Her baby. Amaris's baby.
The cruel irony was a physical weight, crushing her, squeezing the air from her lungs. If Hartley was this ecstatic about Amaris's child, what would he feel about hers? An inconvenience? A complication?
A profound, bottomless despair washed over her. She couldn't let them see her. Not like this. Not broken and pathetic.
She spun around and fled, her heels silent on the polished floor. She pushed open the door to the women's restroom and stumbled inside, locking it behind her.
She lunged for the toilet, her body heaving as she vomited, not the lunch she hadn't eaten, but the bitter acid of years of lies. Tears streamed down her face, mingling with the bile, as she knelt on the cold tile floor, utterly and completely alone.
