Chapter 2

The nurse handed over the authorization form.

I flipped to the last page and signed my name.

Sean stared at me, clearly shocked by how decisive I was.

"Chloe."

"Sign yours too."

My voice was raspy. The IV needle in the back of my hand trembled slightly.

"Sign it and get out. I want to sleep."

The doctor took the form. "The tissue will be sent to the lab. It takes seven business days."

Sean pressed further, "Is the sample size enough? Is there any risk of contamination?"

The doctor looked up at him, a frown creasing his forehead.

"We follow strict protocols, sir. Your wife just got out of surgery. She needs to rest."

The heavy hospital door clicked shut.

Sean sat back down by the bed. He pulled the blanket over my exposed feet.

"Once the results are back, this will all be over."

I closed my eyes.

"Yeah. Over."

He must have caught the double meaning in my words. His hand froze on the blanket. "I don't want a divorce."

"I do."

"You're going through a lot right now. Don't make emotional decisions."

There it was again.

Ever since he got his fertility report, every word I said was labeled as "emotional."

Yet, every accusing question he asked was called "cautious"—just a man looking for the "truth."

As the anesthesia wore off, a sharp, cramping pain bloomed in my lower abdomen.

I curled inward. Sean immediately hit the call button and knelt beside me, grabbing my hand.

"The doctor is coming. Hang in there."

In our three years of marriage, he had always been this gentle.

But now, our baby was gone, and he was staying by my side only because he was obsessed with finding out if the blood on the sheets belonged to him.

When I woke up again, the room was dark. Sean wasn't in the room.

Through the cracked door, I heard the voice of his childhood friend, Rachel Davis.

"Ten weeks is technically doable. But with a sample that small, it's hard to completely rule out maternal DNA contamination. It depends."

Sean's voice was deep and tense. "So the results might not be accurate?"

"I can't give you a one hundred percent guarantee."

Rachel sighed. "Chloe was so quick to sign that paper. Maybe she's actually confident. Or maybe she looked it up beforehand and knows the lab might not be able to get a clear result. Don't let her sweet-talk you back before the report even comes out."

After a long silence, Sean spoke. "She just lost the baby, Rachel. Stop talking like that."

"Fine, my bad."

Rachel let out a mock sigh. "I've been looking out for you since we were kids. Every time you're about to make a fool of yourself, I warn you. But the moment she sheds a couple of tears, you turn on me!"

The door pushed open.

Rachel walked in holding a Tupperware container. When she saw my eyes open, she paused for a fraction of a second.

"You heard us?"

She didn't even try to pretend.

I'll give her that. She was consistent.

"I heard."

Rachel set the container on the table and glared at Sean.

"I told you to shut the door!"

Sean's face darkened. "You should leave, Rachel."

"I spent two hours making this soup and brought it all the way here, and I haven't even had a sip of water. Fine, guess I'm the third wheel."

She walked to the door, then turned around. "Chloe, our lab ran his test twice. You know exactly what Sean's medical situation is."

I looked her dead in the eye. "Running the same sample through the centrifuge twice counts as two separate tests now?"

Rachel's face shifted.

"The results were the same. What difference does it make?"

"You took one sample, looked at it twice, and told him he was completely sterile."

I stared at her. "And Sean believed you. He decided I cheated on him and refused to acknowledge his own child."

Sean placed a hand on my shoulder.

"Just lie down, please."

I pushed his hand away.

Rachel stood by the door, biting her lip. "I was just trying to help you guys. If you want to treat me like the villain, go ahead!"

"Rachel," Sean called after her. "Send me the full lab report."

She rolled her eyes. "I already did on Snapchat. You just didn't bother to read it."

The door slammed shut.

Sean pulled out his phone and opened the screenshot Rachel had sent him. It was cropped right below the line: No sperm detected after centrifugation.

Anything below that was cut off.

He put his phone face down on the table. "I'll go get the physical copy from the clinic tomorrow."

"Why didn't you go today?"

He looked at me and said nothing.

Because today, he already had his answer.

His wife was pregnant. He was sterile.

To him, there was nothing left to double-check.