Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
“Then why is he texting you now, of all times?” I let out a shaky, jagged breath. My relief is short-lived, that’s for sure.
“He saw us,” Alex explains with a bluntness. “He didn’t see where we went. And because he’s spent the last few weeks driving the entire upper management team insane with his temper, he’s looking for a target.” She gives a dry, humorless laugh. “He sent a text demanding a meeting in his office tomorrow morning at 8AM sharp.”
“Oh god, Alex. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to drag you into this. If he fires you or if he pushes you until you have to tell him—” I feel a tear prick at the corner of my eye. So much for the panic leaving the station. Nope, it returns, tenfold, heavy and suffocating.
“Hey, look at me,” she interrupts my tirade, her voice dropping into a fierce, unyielding tone that cuts through my spiraling thoughts. “He is not going to fire me, and he sure as hell isn’t going to break me. Don’t worry about him. Tomorrow morning, I’ll handle it.”
“How? He’s relentless when he wants an answer.” I blink back the tears. That’s probably what stings the most about when I ended things. He didn’t question me; he didn’t say a single word.
“I’ll just tell him you got a massive job offer,” Alex says with a shrug as if she were planning a routine corporate strategy with lunch on the side instead of spinning a massive lie to one of the most powerful men in the city. “Besides, I’ll tell him you’re moving cross country to New York, or I can even say Los Angeles. I mean, come on, it would work. You’ve been busy packing and cutting ties so you can start over. It’ll give him a reason for your radio silence, not that you should answer the massive jerk, and it’ll make him leave you be until you decide what you want.”
Alex pauses, and her expression softens as I look at her with what I’m sure is sheer terror in my eyes. She squeezes my hand again, gently, before her voice turns serious. “It’ll buy you time, Romy. Which by the way, brings up another conversation we need to have. You can’t hide in your apartment forever, and you can’t run from him indefinitely. He’s going to find out eventually. But for now, tomorrow is my problem. Today, focus on you and that little peanut you’re carrying.”
Before I can respond or process the weight of Alex’s words, a soft knock sounds on the heavy door. The handle turns, and Dr. Charles walks in. She’s a warm, middle-aged woman with kind eyes and a gentle demeanor that calms my rapidly rising blood pressure.
“Hi, Romy,” Dr. Charles greets me, glancing briefly at Alex with a polite nod before pulling the rolling stool toward her. She’s carrying a tablet under her arm and offers a reassuring smile. “I see we have some support with us today, which is wonderful. How have you been feeling since your confirmation appointment?”
“Nauseous,” I reply, a faint, embarrassed smile crossing my lips. I didn’t even say hello back or introduce Alex to her. “In the afternoons, it hits right around two o’clock like clockwork.”
“Ah, the morning sickness that isn’t morning sickness.” Dr. Charles chuckles, tapping a few notes in her table. “Perfectly normal though incredibly frustrating. We can talk about some remedies for that before you leave today. But first, let’s see how you’re doing. We’re going to do a transvaginal ultrasound today since it’s still early in your first trimester. It’ll help us get a clear picture and check on development. Are you ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.” I swallow hard and nod. The next few minutes are a blur of clinical preparation. I lie back on the table, placing my feet into the cold metal stirrups. The experience for this type of ultrasound is undeniably awkward—the heavy plastic wand, the condom wrapper, the cold lubricated gel, and the obscene angle of it all make me want to shrink into the fabric of my gown. I keep my eyes glued to the ceiling, my breath catching in my throat as I try to not overthink the process.
“Alright, Romy. You’re going to feel a little bit of pressure,” Dr. Charles murmurs, her eyes fixed on the large gray monitor beside the bed. “Try to relax your muscles for me.” I nod, and just when I don’t think it’s possible to calm down, Dr. Charles flicks a switch on the machine and the monitor comes to life. No longer is it a dark static, now, it’s a deep, grainy black-and-white image. The doctor adjusts the probe slightly, zooming in on a tiny, peanut-shaped shadow nestled safely inside my body and is now visible on the screen.