Just as I began to lose consciousness, my phone rang.
With trembling hands, I answered. A low, familiar voice came through the receiver.
“What took you so long to answer?”
I used the last of my strength to whisper, “You once said that you wanted to have a child with me. Does that still count?”
The voice on the other end suddenly sharpened.
“Where are you? What happened?!”
Barely holding on, I answered, “I’m at the edge of a cliff. Can you come save me?”
Fifteen minutes later, the roar of helicopter blades grew louder.
As soon as it landed, a tall man jumped out and strode toward me with urgent, powerful steps.
He swept me into his arms.
“How did you end up like this?”
I opened my mouth to speak, but the pain made me gasp sharply.
“Don’t talk,” he said, tightening his hold on me.
And in the next second, I sank into darkness.
When I woke up again, all I saw was white. The air smelled faintly of disinfectant.
Bernard sat at my bedside, his brows furrowed.
“Eleanor, what have you been through all these years?”
He handed me a thick stack of medical records.
“So many ovulation-stimulating injections and fertility meds. Were you that desperate for a child?”
I stayed silent as tears welled in my eyes.