He had burned my life to the ground. In three days, he had drained our savings, tarnished my professional reputation, and now, he stood in a medical facility demanding I sign away the home I had helped build.
Peyton reached into her designer handbag and pulled out a silver pen. She held it out to me, her eyes gleaming with the thrill of the kill. “Just sign it, Lauren. Keep whatever shred of dignity you have left. The baby is proof enough. Don’t make David drag you through a public trial.”
I looked at the pen. I looked at the man who had promised to love me until our dying breath.
Then, the heavy wooden door swung open. Dr. Sutton walked in, her silver hair pulled back into a severe bun, her eyes scanning the crowded room. She paused, taking in the leather folder, the pen in Peyton’s hand, and my trembling frame.
“I prefer my examination rooms uncrowded,” Dr. Sutton said crisply.
“We’re just finishing up some legal business, Doctor,” David said, crossing his arms. “Go ahead and confirm the pregnancy. I need it for the record.”
Dr. Sutton didn’t argue. She simply pulled on her gloves, her face unreadable. She applied the freezing cold gel to my stomach. I squeezed my eyes shut, a single tear slipping down my temple, preparing for the final nail in my coffin.
The machine hummed. The wand glided over my skin.
Dr. Sutton stared at the screen. She stopped moving. She tapped a few keys on the console, her brow furrowing deeply.
“Mr. Vance,” Dr. Sutton said, her voice dropping into a register of pure, authoritative steel. “Before your wife signs a single piece of paper, you need to look at this monitor.”
David gave a short, patronizing sigh. The kind of sound a man makes when he is entirely convinced he is the smartest person in the room. He took a sip of his espresso and stepped closer to the machine.
“How far along is the bastard?” David asked, the cruelty rolling off his tongue with sickening ease.
