I gripped my phone so tight my knuckles ached, pressing my lips together in silence.
"Cora, are you feeling okay? You look terrible."
The car pulled up to the hospital entrance. I grabbed Tim's sleeve.
"Can we go to a different hospital? I don't want to do the checkup here."
Tim shot me a suspicious look. "Cora, we've done all our prenatal appointments here since we registered. Why would you want to switch now?"
"You picked Dr. Finch yourself. It's too late to change doctors."
He took my hand, his palm warm against mine.
"Have you been too anxious lately? That's my fault—I've been working so hard, trying to earn a bigger year-end bonus, to give you and the baby a better life."
Before, I would have melted at his dedication.
But now, that post was a thorn buried deep in my heart.
"Cora, every other hospital is fully booked. Let's just do the checkup today, okay?"
The cold probe pressed inside me. I couldn't stop trembling.
Tim held my hand tightly, his thumb smoothing the furrow between my brows.
"The patient needs to rest lying down. Results will be ready in forty-eight hours."
Maybe the tension had exhausted me—I actually fell asleep.
When I woke, Tim was gone.
The elevator was packed. I braced one hand against my belly and took the stairs.
At the landing, I saw him.
Tim had his arms around a girl younger than me.
"What are you doing at the hospital? There are so many viruses going around."
He pulled out a mask, his face creased with concern, and fitted it over her face.
"I was worried about the baby. When do the results come out?"
She pressed her body against his chest.
"Don't worry. I've got everything arranged—the results will be fine. You'll get to be a mother, just like you wanted."
"Now you—it's freezing. Go home before you make me worry."
The girl stamped her foot, pouting. "No, no, I want to stay with you. She's asleep anyway."
"I'm hungry. Will you take me to eat?"
Tim looked at her with helpless affection, brushing the loose hair from her forehead.
"Whatever you want. Anything you want. What are you craving?"
The tenderness in his eyes—I had never seen it once in five years of marriage.
She whispered something in his ear. He scooped her up by the waist.
They headed downstairs together.
A sharp pain tore through my abdomen. I clutched my belly, slid down the wall, and crumpled to the floor.
I called Tim. Heavy breathing filled the receiver.
"Cora, you're awake? Something came up with a project at work. Rest at the hospital—I'll pick you up when you're done."
"Tim, my stomach hurts. Can you skip the office and stay with me? Please?"
"Don't be difficult, Cora. It's almost the new year. I can't let anything affect my bonus. Be good."
The girl's voice, low and urgent: "Hurry up, hurry up. My hands are cold. Hang up."
The line went dead.
The pain ebbed.
I pulled myself upright and walked to the nurses' station.
I booked another appointment with Dr. Finch.
"Cordelia, you want a termination?"
Dr. Jacqueline Finch stared at me, disbelief etched across her face.
"Do you understand what you're saying? You're seven months pregnant. Your uterine condition is poor—after a termination, you may never conceive again."
I met her worried gaze and nodded.
"I've made up my mind. I want the termination. Please schedule the surgery for tomorrow."
She opened her mouth to argue. I pulled up the post I'd seen that morning and handed her my phone.
Her jaw dropped. She stared at the screen, speechless.
"That's impossible. Absolutely impossible. This post has to be lies. Cordelia—this is a life."
Dr. Finch was my best friend's neighbor. I trusted her completely.
