Chapter 2 - DIAGNOSIS AND DENIAL
The examination room felt too small for the three of us. The paper covering the exam table crinkled loudly as I sat down, the noise highlighting the tense silence between Vincent and me.
Dr. Bennett checked my blood pressure twice. The second reading made her expression tighten in that familiar, cautious way doctors adopt when delivering bad news.
“Still getting headaches?” she asked, typing notes into her tablet.
“Sometimes.”
“Any flashing lights in your vision?”
“Yesterday.”
Vincent leaned forward, his hands resting on his knees. “You had trouble seeing?”
I looked at him, feeling defensive. “It lasted maybe ten seconds.”
“And you didn't go to a hospital?”
Dr. Bennett interrupted before my irritation could become a full argument. “Her blood pressure has been borderline for two weeks. We have been monitoring it closely.”
“What does borderline mean?” Vincent demanded.
“It means,” I said, looking straight at him, “this is still my appointment.”
Vincent sat back, folding his arms. “You're right.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What?”
“I said you're right.”
“You never say that so quickly.”
“A lot has happened in the last twenty minutes.”
Dr. Bennett almost smiled, but her eyes remained serious as she checked my ankles and frowned at the pronounced swelling. “I want another urine sample and some blood work immediately. Then we'll monitor the baby’s heart rate for a while.”
“Is something wrong?” I asked, my voice suddenly losing its defensive edge.
“Not necessarily,” Dr. Bennett said calmly. “I just don't like the combination of swelling, headaches, and today's pressure. We need to rule out preeclampsia.”
Vincent stared at her. “What are you concerned about?”
“Preeclampsia is a serious pregnancy complication characterized by high blood pressure,” Dr. Bennett explained, looking between us. “It can restrict blood flow to the placenta and put both mother and baby at risk if left unmanaged.”
Vincent’s posture went completely rigid. “Is my daughter in danger?”
“We are taking precautions to ensure she isn't,” Dr. Bennett replied. “Hannah, go ahead to the restroom for the sample, and then lie down on the table.”
As I stood up, a sudden wave of dizziness hit me. The room tilted. I reached out for the wall, but Vincent was already there. His arm caught my waist, supporting my weight before my knees could buckle. His grip was firm, familiar, and undeniably warm.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered near my ear.
“I’m fine,” I lied, gripping his forearm until the room stopped spinning.
“You aren't fine,” Vincent said softly, looking down into my eyes with a mix of panic and desperation I had never seen in him. “You’re sick, and you’ve been dealing with this alone.”
“Because you left me!” I snapped, stepping back as soon as my feet felt stable.
“I didn't leave you, Hannah,” Vincent said, his voice dropping into a dangerous hum. “I thought you left me.”
I stopped near the restroom door. “What are you talking about?”
Vincent reached into his coat and pulled out his leather wallet, extracting a folded piece of paper that looked as worn and handled as the note I kept in my own bag. He held it out to me.
I hesitated, then took it.
The handwriting was a forged copy of my own script.
Vincent, the letter read, I can’t live like this anymore. Don't look for me. I’m having the marriage dissolved through my own counsel. If you ever cared for me, let me go.
I stared at the paper, my blood running cold. “I never wrote this.”
May you like
“I know that now,” Vincent said, looking at me as if seeing me clearly for the first time in six months. “Someone played us both.”
Outside the exam room, through the frost-dusted window in the door, I caught a glimpse of Grant Holloway pacing in the hallway, his phone pressed firmly to his ear.
