Chapter 51

The appointment was set for 11:45AM.

I had texted Max the details two days ago. A simple message. Nothing too warm. Nothing too cold. Just facts.

Lila: The Doctor’s appointment is on Friday at 11:45. If you still want to come, I’ll be ready by 11.

He replied almost instantly.

Max: Wouldn’t miss it for anything. I will definitely be there.

And true to his word, he was. By 10:55, he was outside my apartment, the car engine humming softly, looking like the kind of man you’d trust at first glance, polished, warm, dependable.

I almost believed it again.

Almost.

The soft hum of the car engine was the only thing between us.

Max hadn’t said much since I climbed in, and I didn’t mind. I wasn’t in the mood for conversation either. I sat with my hands folded over my lap, eyes trained on the traffic ahead, occasionally glancing down at my phone.

Even though I’d sent him the appointment details two days ago, part of me didn’t think he’d show up. Not after everything. Not after what I saw.

But here he was.

Clean shaven, shirt rolled at the sleeves and a warm smile in place like nothing had shifted.

As if I hadn’t seen the message.

As if I didn’t know someone was asking him what I knew about the launch. Well it's not like he knew that I had seen the message but still, everything felt so awkward and untrue.

“I think they’re calling this the hottest August in six years,” he said after a while, as though the heat was the thing weighing heavy on my chest.

I nodded faintly. “It’s been brutal.”

Max turned the dial down on the AC, maybe sensing my discomfort or maybe not. He didn’t press me for more.

When we pulled into the hospital parking lot, I took a slow breath and reached for the bottle of water I’d brought. It was almost empty.

“You okay?” he asked.

I nodded again. “Just want to get this over with.”

We checked in at the gynaecology wing. The waiting area was warm and softly lit, the walls painted a pale lavender that was meant to be calming but somehow just made me feel more on edge. A nurse handed me a clipboard of update forms. Max offered to hold my bag while I filled them out.

It all felt too... normal.

A woman across the room rubbed her belly, her partner gently resting a hand on her shoulder. Another couple whispered to each other in Spanish I guess, their heads bent together like co-conspirators in something beautiful.

And then there was us.

Me, wondering how deep Max’s lies went.

Him, flipping through a parenting magazine like he belonged here.

“Lila Bennett?” the nurse called.

Max stood with me, even before I did. He gave me a nod and followed me through the swinging doors.

The doctor greeted us with a bright smile, a man in his late fifties with sharp eyes and a kind voice. “Back again, Lila. You’re looking well.”

“Thank you,” I said, managing a smile.

He turned to Max. “Someone came with you today, that's very nice Lila, I'm glad you are getting the support you need.”

Max stepped forward with a polite handshake in response. “I’m Maxwell. And yes, I'm going to ensure she gets all the support she needs.”

I almost said something. But I didn't.

The checkup itself was routine. Blood pressure, pulse, weight, the usual assessments. Then came the soft, rhythmic sound of the baby's heartbeat on the monitor.

That sound always made everything else pause.

Even Max grew quiet, his eyes flickering toward the monitor with something unreadable in them. I studied his expression for a moment, wondering if it was real, if any part of this was still real.

“Everything’s looking good,” the doctor said. “Strong heartbeat. Weight’s right on track.”

He glanced at my chart. “Lila, I’ll be switching your prenatal vitamins. The current ones are fine, but as we enter the second trimester, your iron levels need a little more support. I’ve written a prescription for a gentler supplement that should be easier on your stomach.”

I nodded, scribbling the name down in my notes.

The rest of the appointment passed in quiet efficiency. I asked a few questions about sleep and round ligament pain. Max didn’t interrupt, but he stood nearby, arms crossed, eyes flickering between me and the doctor like he wanted to say more.

When we stepped out, I turned toward the pharmacy counter to submit my slip. The nurse said it would take a few minutes.

We found two seats by the corner while we waited for them to process my file. Max was scrolling through his phone. I was staring at the tiled floor, heart thudding louder than I liked.

This was it. The window.

I needed to plant something. Just enough to see if Max would bite.

I waited until he was very engrossed on his phone before standing and moving a few steps away, just far enough to make it seem like a private call, but close enough for him to hear if he wanted to.

I pressed my phone to my ear and spoke into the quiet, pretending to speak to an art gallery manager.

“Hi, yes, this is Lila Bennett from Sinclair Enterprise. I’m following up on the availability of the Visage & Void collection, the oil paint pieces with the cityscape overlays?”

I glanced at Max. His eyes were still on his screen, but his body shifted slightly in his seat.

“I know we passed on them initially,” I continued, “but my team’s been re-evaluating. Drew’s thinking the Manhattan location might benefit from something that feels a bit more raw. Something contemporary, urban, but still emotionally immersive.”

That part was true once upon a time.

Drew had considered Visage & Void during an early brainstorming session for some parts of the hotel. It was a collection made by a mid-career Black artist in Brooklyn who explored emotional disconnection through distorted skylines and layered portraits. The pieces were gritty, beautiful, and real. But they didn’t quite match the immersive, organic Eden theme of the Manhattan hotel.

So we had passed on it and went for another collection that matched the theme.

But Max didn’t know that.

“Yes, we’ll need the full portfolio prepared by next Tuesday. Mr. Sinclair is planning to make the final decisions himself,” I added with enough conviction to sell it.

I paused as if the person on the line was confirming.

“That’s perfect. Just have them mounted and ready. We want to move fast on this. Thanks again.”

I ended the call and walked slowly back to my seat.

Max looked up. “Everything okay?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Just had to lock in something before the end of the day.”

He raised a brow. “Was it about the art works for the hotel that you mentioned last time?”

“Sort of. There’s a collection we’re considering for one of the common spaces, still preliminary but Drew’s wants to make sure we get it. We can't afford to miss this collection, it's a very key factor for the hotel.”

“I could reach out to the artist for you,” he said casually. “If it’s who I think it is, I’ve got his number. He was at one of the gallery shows I hosted last fall.”

I smiled faintly. “That’s thoughtful, Max. But we’ve got it handled. It’s all on a tight schedule.”

He nodded slowly, then said, “Well, if you hit any walls, you know where to find me.”

“Of course.”

Before either of us could say more, the pharmacist called my name. I walked over, signed the slip, and collected the new bottle of vitamins. Max followed me back to the car.

He still held the door open for me, and still smiled like everything was fine or he wasn't plotting something in his head.

But I knew better now.

Because I had given him something, I had given him a thread.

Now I just had to wait… and see if he pulled it.

And whatever decision he takes… would tell me everything I needed to know.