The ultrasound screen flickers with my daughter’s heartbeat — strong, steady, and impossibly real.
My baby girl. Some days I still can’t believe she’s real, that this little life is growing inside me.
“Everything looks perfect,” Evie says, her voice professional but warm. She smiles as she moves the wand across my belly, carefully pointing out the features on the screen. “See that? That’s her profile.”
I nod, biting back the lump rising in my throat. “She’s beautiful,” I whisper, barely able to keep my voice steady.
Evie squeezes my hand. “That’s right,” she says softly, her usual sarcasm replaced with pure awe. “She’s already stealing hearts.”
I let out a shaky laugh, grateful that she’s here. Evie insisted on providing a screening for me today, declaring that no best friend worth their salt would miss a chance to meet “the future queen of sass” first of all.
“Thanks for being here for me,” I say to Evie as her eyes are still locked on the screen.
“Please,” Evie scoffs, though there’s no real bite in her voice. “Like I’d let you do this alone. Someone’s gotta keep you sane when this little nugget starts kicking at 3 a.m.”
True. She’s been my anchor, my voice of reason, and sometimes the only one who can pull me out of my own head.
Today’s morning starts like any other. Coffee with Nate in the break room, his fingers lightly brushing mine as he hands me my decaf.
A brief agreement to go together with him to the favorite studio for a pottery session and coordinate the details of our meeting after today’s shift.
Patient files to review. Everything normal until I open the next chart and my world stops spinning.
Hannah Austin.
My heart skips a beat as I glance down, my breath catching when I see the last name “Austin” listed under her spouse’s information.
I swallow hard, forcing myself to remain calm. My hands tighten around the clipboard, but I quickly loosen my grip, schooling my expression into one of polite professionalism.
Hannah enters, her demeanor cheerful but nervous, a typical first—time mom energy radiating from her. She offers a polite smile as she sits across from me.
“Good morning, Mrs. Austin,” I say evenly, the words tasting foreign on my tongue. “I’m Dr. Jones. How can I help you today?”
Her smile falters slightly, as if sensing something in my tone, but she nods. “I just wanted to check on the baby and make sure everything’s progressing as it should. It’s my first, so I’m a little paranoid.”
I nod, gesturing for her to lie back so I can perform the examination. As I prepare the equipment, I can’t help but glance at her hand, where a simple gold wedding band rests.
“So,” I say casually, my voice steady, “your husband might be Vincent Austin. Is he the same lawyer who represented this hospital last year in that malpractice case?”
Hannah’s eyes light up, pride in her expression. “Yes, that’s him. He’s incredible at what he does, isn’t he? The way he talks about his cases… I’m so lucky to have him.”
Lucky.
The word echoes in my mind, sharp and bitter. I press my lips together, nodding as I turn back to the machine, focusing on the task at hand.
The examination proceeds mechanically. I measure, I document, I pretend my heart isn’t being shredded all over again.
“Everything looks good,” I say, stripping off my gloves. “We’ll schedule your next—”
“Actually.” She leans forward, voice dropping. “I need something else. A paternity test.”
The words hit like a physical blow.
I feel the breath leave my lungs, but I force myself to stay composed. “That’s certainly something we can arrange. Would you like me to schedule it for you?”
She hesitates again, then leans in slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
“Actually…” She glances at the door, then pulls out a checkbook. “I was hoping we could… work something out. I need the results to show my husband is the father. I can pay you — whatever you want.”
The audacity of her request nearly knocks the air out of me. My grip tightens on the pen in my hand, but I force myself to keep my expression neutral.
“I see,” I say calmly, meeting her gaze.
She smiles, mistaking my tone for agreement.
For a moment, I’m speechless. This woman knew. She knew everything — about Vincent, about me — and still, she manipulated him into this life, into leaving me for a child that might not even be his.
But I can’t let her see my anger. Instead, I nod slowly, forcing a kind smile. “Let’s get the samples sent to the lab, and I’ll handle the rest,” I hear myself say. “No charge.”
Her eyes narrow suspiciously. “Why would you do that?”
“Because everyone deserves happiness.” The lie tastes like acid.
Hannah beams, clearly relieved. “Thank you, Dr. Jones. I knew you’d understand.”
After she leaves for the lab, I sink into my chair, shaking.
Of course, I wasn’t going to actually help Hannah with another lie, but she didn’t need to know that.
It’s clear that if I had refused her offer, she would likely have gone to another doctor or clinic and probably found someone willing to participate in her deceit. Something I could not allow.
Let her believe for now that I had her back. As if, lying tramp.
The following two weeks pass slowly. When the results finally arrive, I waste no time opening the envelope, my heart pounding as I scan the document.
Negative.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. The baby isn’t Vincent’s.
The anger I’d been holding back for weeks simmers beneath the surface. She lied to him, manipulated him into abandoning me, into abandoning the life we’d built together, all for a lie.
I don’t hesitate. I write a brief note, enclosing the test results in an envelope addressed to Vincent. The words are simple but pointed: You deserve the truth.
As I seal the envelope and drop it into the outgoing mail bin, I feel a strange sense of closure. It doesn’t erase the pain of what happened, but it’s a step forward.
Hannah may have taken everything from me, but now, Vincent will finally see her for who she really is.
