Chapter 9 - The Appointment
The next morning I went down at seven. Marta was already in the kitchen. I walked right past the almond milk and poured orange juice instead. She watched me, jittery.
"Mrs. Keene—"
I ignored her.
"Mr. Ashford said not to make breakfast. Because of the appointment."
"I know."
She hesitated. Then: "Are you really pregnant?"
I turned to face her. "For five years, you put something in my drink every single morning."
Her eyes flooded with panic. "I didn't know. I swear." She stepped closer. "Mrs. Ashford told me they were fertility supplements. From a specialist. She said they were supposed to help you."
Maybe it was true. Maybe she was saving herself. In that moment I didn't care.
Damon came down dressed for a board meeting. Perfect suit, perfect hair, cold face.
"Let's go."
The family SUV was waiting. We sat on opposite ends of the back seat the whole way into Manhattan. He spent most of it on his phone. From the corner of my eye I saw the name at the top of the screen: Camille. She was telling him not to worry. To handle it. To make the problem go away permanently.
I turned to the window.
At Carnegie Clinic they took us up to a private obstetrics floor. The staff knew Damon on sight. A doctor greeted him warmly.
"Mr. Ashford."
Then he turned to me. "We'll confirm gestational age first."
The ultrasound showed the pregnancy clearly. A tiny shape. A fast heartbeat. The doctor adjusted the measurements. "About seven and a half weeks."
Damon spoke before I could. "How soon can the procedure happen?"
"We'd need standard pre-procedure blood work first."
"Today?"
"Bloods today. If everything's clean, tomorrow is possible."
"Fine."
A nurse came in a few minutes later. "Mrs. Ashford, come with me for your labs."
Damon waved me off without looking up from his phone.
Instead of the regular lab, the nurse turned down one corridor, then another, and stopped outside a private office. Dr. Naomi Bright — Deputy Chief.
A woman in her thirties with a sharp bob and gold-rimmed glasses stood as I came in. "Rosalind Keene?"
"Yes."
"I'm Naomi." She shut the door. "Grant told me everything."
Relief hit me so hard my knees felt loose.
"We don't have much time," she said. Under the cover of pre-procedure testing, she would document a serious medical contraindication — something that required specialized evaluation before anyone could safely intervene. At the same time, she'd run my real tests privately. "I want to know you and the baby are actually healthy."
"Thank you."
She shook her head. "Just focus on getting yourself out of that house."
She examined me, ran the extra tests, drew the blood herself.
Back in the consultation room, the attending doctor read the file Naomi had built. His face turned grave.
"Mr. Ashford. There's a problem. Your wife's blood profile indicates a significant bleeding risk. I can't authorize an outpatient procedure under these conditions."
"How long do we wait?"
"She needs further hematology workup and monitoring. Several weeks, minimum."
Damon stood. "Several weeks?"
"Yes."
His jaw tightened. He looked at me. I kept my face blank.
On the drive home he finally spoke. "You set this up."
"Set what up?"
"The results."
I almost smiled. "You think I hacked one of the most prestigious private clinics in Manhattan?"
Nothing.
"The doctor told you the risk himself."
He stared out the window the rest of the way.
Vivienne was waiting in the front hall. "Well?"
Damon pulled off his jacket. "We have to wait. Blood work."
Her face went hard. She turned on me. "She planned this."
"Mother."
"She's refusing."
"The doctor won't proceed."
"I don't care what some Manhattan doctor says." She jabbed a finger at me. "That child will not replace Theo."
A soft laugh slipped out of me.
Vivienne stared. "What are you laughing at?"
"You." I looked straight at her. "You are terrified. You're afraid I'm going to give birth to the legitimate heir you spent five years swearing I could never produce."
Her hand shook. "You insolent little—"
"Relax." I headed for the stairs. "Boy or girl, my baby doesn't want a cent of your fortune."
Upstairs I opened my encrypted email. Grant's settlement was waiting.
May you like
Sole legal and physical custody. Permanent waiver of Damon's parental rights. Three million dollars through Grant's escrow account. In exchange, I gave up claims to Ashford Holdings and most of the family real estate.
Exactly what I wanted.
