Chapter 1 - THE QUESTION UNDER FLUORESCENT LIGHTS
For six months, I had practiced the expression I would wear if I ever saw Elias Grant again.
It was composed, distant, and professionally indifferent.
In every imagined version, I was wearing something elegant. My hair was loose. My voice did not shake. Elias noticed that I had survived him, and I walked away before he could decide whether survival meant I no longer cared.
Reality gave me pink scrubs, swollen ankles, a hospital coat that no longer buttoned over my seven-month belly, and his frightened daughter crying into his wrinkled navy suit.
“Daddy, my arm hurts.”
The girl looked six, perhaps younger because of her petite frame. Long light-brown hair spilled around a pink bow. Her left hand gripped Elias’s lapel while her right wrist rested protectively against her chest.
Elias saw me.
Then he saw the pregnancy.
He stopped so suddenly that the emergency nurse beside me nearly walked into him.
For one suspended second, the corridor disappeared. I saw only the man who had once slept with one hand over my heart, as though he needed to make sure it remained there through the night.
Then Sophie whimpered.
Training returned before emotion did.
“I’m Dr. Adelaide,” I said, looking at her instead of him. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Sophie.”
The name meant nothing to me.
That realization landed almost as hard as seeing Elias.
He had a daughter old enough to read, and during the fourteen months we had been together, he had never once spoken her name.
“What happened, Sophie?”
“I fell.”
“From what?”
“The monkey bars.”
“At school?”
She nodded.
Elias found his voice.
“The school called me twenty minutes ago. She landed on her hand. There was no loss of consciousness, no vomiting, and she walked to the nurse’s office herself.”
He recited the details too quickly, as though precision could protect him from the other question waiting between us.
The emergency nurse, Melissa Carter, pulled the treatment bed closer.
“Let’s get her settled.”
Elias placed Sophie down with extraordinary care. He kept one hand behind her shoulders until she was sitting securely.
His eyes never left my stomach.
“Adelaide,” he whispered.
Not Doctor Morgan.
Not ma’am.
Adelaide.
I turned toward the medical tablet.
“Any medication allergies?”
“No.”
“Chronic conditions?”
“None.”
“Previous fractures?”
“No.”
“Legal guardian?”
“I’m her father.”
There was no hesitation.
Melissa looked between us but did not ask the question visible on her face.
I examined Sophie’s wrist. The swelling was concentrated over the distal radius. Her fingers were warm. Capillary refill was normal. She could move them, though it hurt.
“Your hand is getting good blood flow,” I told her. “That’s important. We need an X-ray to see whether the bone is cracked.”
“Will I need a shot?”
“Possibly medicine, but no surprises. We’ll tell you first.”
Sophie’s gaze moved toward my belly.
“Are you having a baby?”
“I am.”
Her fear softened for the first time.
“I’ve always wanted a little sister.”
Behind her, Elias drew in one sharp breath.
My hands stopped for less than a second.
Melissa noticed.
She smoothly took over positioning the pediatric wrist support while I stepped toward the rolling cart and pretended to review supplies.
Seven months pregnant.
Six months apart.
Elias had always been quick with numbers.
When I turned back, his face had lost every trace of color.
I finished the initial examination, ordered wrist and forearm imaging, and asked Melissa to page Dr. Nathan Cole from the pediatric emergency team.
“I’m transferring Sophie’s continuing care to another physician,” I said.
Elias’s eyes narrowed.
“Why?”
“Because once her immediate condition is stable, my personal history with you creates an unnecessary conflict.”
Sophie looked worried.
“Did I do something?”
“No, sweetheart. You did everything right. Dr. Cole is excellent.”
Melissa remained beside her while I stepped into the corridor.
Elias followed only after making sure Sophie could still see him through the glass door.
“Adelaide.”
“You need to stay with your daughter.”
“I need one answer.”
I turned.
My hand moved over my belly before I could stop it.
He looked at the gesture as though it physically hurt him.
“Is the baby mine?”
The corridor seemed too bright.
I had imagined this moment in dozens of ways. In none of them had a six-year-old girl been waiting behind glass.
“Yes,” I said.
His shoulders dropped.
Not with relief.
With the full weight of understanding.
Before he could speak, an X-ray technician arrived for Sophie.
I moved aside.
“Your daughter needs you.”
“And you?”
May you like
“I needed you six months ago.”
Then I walked away before the baby could feel how violently my heart was beating.
