His words flowed smoothly, but I could see the strain in his posture, the tightness in his jaw. He helped me into the examination room but didn't linger, excusing himself almost immediately.
The doctor who entered froze as soon as she saw me. Her eyes widened, her professional smile faltering. "Mrs. Anders?" she began, her voice hesitant.
I couldn't meet her gaze. Just a few days ago, she'd helped me with the abortion. Now, here I was, returning for a prenatal checkup. Finally, I stood, shaking my head. "I'm sorry. There's been a mistake."
I left the room before she could respond, my footsteps unsteady. As I passed the waiting area, I caught sight of them again—Tristan and Anya. He held her bag over one shoulder while his other hand rested protectively on her lower back. They were laughing together, their heads close as if sharing a private joke.
Something inside me snapped. I hailed a taxi outside the hospital, the driver's puzzled gaze lingering on my tear-streaked face.
Back at the house, I moved through the rooms mechanically, packing my belongings into a single suitcase. I avoided looking at the bed, the couch, the dining table—all the places where our life together had unfolded.