the quiet, snowy dark. The air smelled of antiseptic and quiet despair.

ture of professional calm and holiday fatigue. They glanced at me, a heavily pregnant woman sitting

that read "Dr. Emily Chen" called my name. S

ce gentle. "What can I help you

sounding distant and flat. "

ly, then back at my face. "You' re quite far along," she said carefully.

of my emotions. For a moment, I wanted to break down, to tell her eve

s. I smoothed the crumpled document on the examination table between us. I pointed to the cla

y husband brought home his pregnant mistress tonight. He told me

rom professional concern to quiet, contained anger. She looke

acts. "He believes I have no money, no job, no way to support myself,

part of this. The decision had to be mine al

hoing in the small, sterile room. "I can' t let my baby be a weapon he might one day try to use agains

filled with a compassion that didn't feel like pity. It felt like respect. "But I need to be clear with you, Ava. At th

ade. The physical pain she described was nothing compared to the lifetime of emotional agony I was saving my child

en she had finished.

st biological tie to Liam Vance. He would have his "legitimate" heir with Sarah. He would never have a cla

ipboard with consent forms toward me.

as it had been when I signed the divorce papers. I was amputatin

allowed myself to shed. I was mourning a future that would never be, a child I would never hold. But I was al