“Thank you, Doctor. I’ll make sure she rests. I’ll make sure she’s taken care of.”
“She’s lucky to have you,” Dr. Evans said with a warm smile.
I squeezed my eyes shut against his shirt. Lucky. That word again. If only she knew that the man holding me was the reason I was so stressed, the reason my body was rejecting the very idea of bringing another life into this house.
That evening, the performance continued at the Miller family estate.
“So,” Brandon’s mother said, cutting into her steak with surgical precision. “What did the doctor say? When can we expect an heir?”
I stared at my plate, pushing a pea around with my fork.
“Mother,” Brandon said, his voice warning.
“It’s a valid question,” his father grunted. “The terms of the trust are clear, Brandon. A stable marriage. A family. Your grandfather wants to see a great-grandchild before he passes. If there’s no baby…” He let the sentence trail off, the threat of disinheritance hanging in the air.
“We are trying,” Brandon said, reaching over to squeeze my hand on the table. His grip was tight, almost painful. “But Maureen needs time. She lost a child. We both did.”