3!I never stopped thinking about you

ZARA TAYLOR

I kept tapping my hands against my purse as I sat in the lobby of the fertility clinic I just walked into. I could feel my legs vibrating and my mind racing as well.

“What am I doing?” I ask myself. It’s only been a few months since I divorced, and I have been enjoying my single life as much as I want.

But something inside of me keeps screaming incomplete and that’s why I'm here. In a fertility clinic, trying to have a baby.

“Hi, you can go in now,” the receptionist said to me. I nodded with a smile and walked towards the doctor’s office. The door swung open, and a couple walked out, holding each other tightly and beaming with a smile.

I stepped aside to let them pass, their happiness brushing against me like a gust of warm wind I hadn’t expected. I caught the woman’s eyes just for a second, there was a shine in them, a kind of joy that wasn’t just about the moment, but about something bigger.

I swallowed hard, the knot in my stomach tightening.

The doctor stood at the door, her expression gentle and inviting. “Ms. Taylor? Come in.”

I took a deep breath, adjusted the strap of my purse on my shoulder, and walked inside.

The room was calm, minimalist, with soft lighting and shelves lined with medical books and tiny framed photos, babies, happy parents, little thank-you notes scribbled in colored ink.

“Please, have a seat,” she said, gesturing toward the chair across from her desk. “I’m Dr. Moreno.”

“Zara,” I replied, settling into the chair. “Nice to meet you."

She gave me a kind smile and opened a folder. “So, I understand you’re interested in exploring fertility options?”

I nodded, forcing a small smile of my own. “Yes. I know it probably sounds a little impulsive, but…”

“You’d be surprised how many people come in saying that exact thing.” She folded her hands on the desk. “But this isn’t about impulse. It’s about instinct. Wanting a child isn’t something that always follows a ‘perfect timeline.’”

Her words softened the sharp edges of doubt circling my thoughts.

“I’ve been through a lot recently,” I admitted. “A divorce. A shift in my career. And now, I just… I want something that’s mine. Something real.”

Dr. Moreno nodded, understanding. “That’s valid. And you’re not alone.” She paused, glancing at her notes. “There are a few different paths we can take depending on what you’re comfortable with: sperm donor, egg freezing, IVF. Have you thought about which direction you’d like to go?”

I bit my bottom lip, my fingers twisting the ring I no longer wore on my left hand. “I don’t know. I mean, I want to be a mom. I know that. But how…”

“That’s what we’re here for,” she said warmly. “To figure that out, together.”

“But there's one thing I do know I want,” I said to her with all seriousness.

“Name it. This is your decision to make and no one else,” I smiled at the sound of that. My decision to make. My choice.

“Good, because I want everything to be anonymous,” I said, and she arched her eyebrows. “Whatever decision I am going to make has to be anonymous. I do not want to know who the sperm donor will be, and he can’t know who I am as well,” I said, and she nodded

A month into my treatments, I was beginning to feel something close to hope. It was fragile, like a paper crane folded by trembling fingers, but it was there.

Until the call.

It came on a Thursday morning, just after I finished my workout. Dr. Moreno’s voice was soft, too soft.

“Zara, I need you to come in as soon as possible. There’s been a… complication.”

Complication. That word echoed in my ears the whole drive to the clinic. I replayed every step I had taken over the past month, trying to figure out what went wrong. Did I forget a pill? Miss an injection?

I was ushered into Dr. Moreno’s office the second I arrived, no waiting, no pleasantries. Just her solemn face and a thick file sitting open on her desk.

“There’s been a mistake,” she said.

My heart sank.

“What kind of mistake?” I asked, already bracing myself for the worst.

“It’s about the donor,” she said gently. “There was an error during the labeling process in the lab. The sperm used during your IVF wasn’t from the anonymous donor you selected.”

I stared at her, blinking. “What do you mean it wasn’t from the donor I selected?”

She folded her hands tightly, clearly shaken. “Zara, I’m so sorry. The donor used was someone else. And he has been made aware of the mix-up… He wants to be involved.”

I stood up immediately. “No. No, that is not happening. That was never part of the deal. I made it very clear that I wanted anonymity. No ties. No obligations.”

“I know,” Dr. Moreno said, rising slowly. “And I’m truly sorry. We’re investigating exactly how this happened. But I do think… it might help if you meet him. Just to understand the full picture before deciding your next steps.”

“No,” I said flatly.

That night, I lay awake, wondering what kind of man would want to get involved in a situation like this and why.

Against my better judgment, I agreed to the meeting.

I walked into the private meeting room, arms folded and a tough expression on my face, like I was ready for a fight.

The door opened, and I heard his footsteps before I saw him. Then, that voice.

“Zara?”

Everything inside me froze.

I turned, slowly, and my breath caught in my throat.

Matthew Russell.

I nearly stumbled backward, gripping the edge of the table like it could anchor me to reality. He looked older, yes, but still maddeningly handsome, tall, composed, his brown eyes carrying the same storm they did all those years ago. The only man I had ever loved.

The only man I had ever truly hated.

“You?” I whispered, disbelief crashing into my chest like a wave.

He nodded slowly, as stunned as I was. “I didn’t know. Not until they contacted me.”

I blinked hard, forcing myself to breathe. “This is… this is a joke. A really sick joke.”

“I wish it were,” he said quietly. “But it’s not. I didn’t ask for this either, Zara.”

I laughed, bitter and sharp. “You have no right to be involved in anything to do with me. Especially not something like this.”

“I didn’t come here to make this harder,” he said, stepping closer. “But I need you to understand… I never stopped thinking about you.”

I flinched, every nerve in my body reacting to the sting of his words. “Don’t. Don’t you dare do this. You don’t get to come back now, after everything you ruined.”

His jaw tightened. “It was an accident, Zara. I was seventeen. I didn’t mean for any of it to happen.”

He swallowed hard, guilt rippling across his face like a shadow. “And I’ve lived with that every single day since. You think I haven’t paid for it? I left the country because I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror. But now I’m back. And this…it changes everything.”

I shook my head, my hands trembling. “Not for me. I didn’t ask for anyone’s help, especially not you.”

“I’m not here to take anything from you,” he said. “But I do want to be part of this child’s life.”

“No,” I said firmly, my voice cracking. “You don’t get to play the redemption card just because fate dealt us a twisted hand.”

There was silence between us. Heavy. Suffocating.

“Zara…” he said softly. “Please.”

“I can’t do this,” I said, turning away. “I won’t.”

I stormed out of the room, my heart pounding, my vision blurring. I didn’t stop until I was in my car, gripping the steering wheel like it might break apart in my hands.

My whole body trembled. Not just from anger, but from the wave of memories I had buried for years. His kiss. His touch. His betrayal. The funeral. The rain. The void.

I couldn’t let him back in. Not now. Not ever.

So I did what I had to.

I packed a bag that night, booked a flight out of the country, and left.

No goodbye.

No note.

No clue that I was already pregnant.