chapter 3

The smile never left Gregory’s face during the entire drive back to the mansion. His fingers tapped a light, joyful rhythm against the steering wheel as Dorcas’s words replayed in his mind like a beautiful melody he couldn’t stop humming.

A little girl.

He had always wanted a daughter. Two strong sons to protect her, and a little princess to spoil rotten — to twirl around in his arms, to buy too many dresses for, to watch grow up feeling completely loved. After years of silent disappointment and growing resentment, it felt as though fate had finally decided to reward him. To say: You deserve this. You deserve them.

His phone buzzed in the cupholder. He glanced at it while keeping one eye on the dark road.

Dorcas: Drive carefully. Your daughter needs her daddy. 

Gregory’s chest tightened with a warmth he hadn’t felt in a long time. He smiled — a real, unguarded smile — and slipped the phone back into his pocket. He had never felt so needed. So wanted. So complete.

By the time he pulled into the long driveway of the Ashford mansion, it was nearly midnight. The grand house stood dark and imposing against the night sky, except for a single warm lamp glowing upstairs in the master bedroom. Cathrene was still awake. Again.

He frowned, a flicker of irritation cutting through his lingering joy. Why was she always waiting? Always watching. Always hoping. It made him feel trapped, like he was failing some invisible test every single day.

With a heavy sigh, he stepped out of the car and into the cool night air. The butler, Thomas, greeted him at the door with quiet professionalism.

“Good evening, sir.”

Gregory gave a brief, distracted nod. “Has Madam gone to bed?”

“Not yet, sir.”

Without another word, Gregory headed upstairs, his footsteps echoing through the vast, empty halls. The master bedroom door stood slightly ajar. He pushed it open and found Cathrene sitting beside the large window, wearing a cream-colored silk robe that once looked beautiful on her. A book rested open on her lap, but her eyes were fixed on the glittering city lights far below, lost in thought.

She looked up as he entered. A tired but hopeful smile appeared on her face — the same smile that used to make his heart skip years ago.

“You’re home.”

Gregory loosened his tie with a tired exhale. “Hm.”

“You must be exhausted.”

“It was a long day.”

She closed the book gently and set it aside. “I kept dinner warm for as long as I could.”

“I already ate.”

The words landed harder than either of them expected. Cathrene’s smile faltered, a crack appearing in her carefully maintained composure.

“Oh…”

“I had a business dinner,” he added quickly, the lie slipping out too easily.

She nodded slowly, her fingers twisting the edge of her robe. “I see.”

Silence settled between them — thick, heavy, and suffocating. Once upon a time, silence with Cathrene had been comfortable. Peaceful. Now it felt like a stranger sitting coldly in their bedroom, watching them with judgment.

Gregory walked into the bathroom without another word, closing the door behind him a little too firmly. Cathrene watched the closed door for several long seconds, her heart aching with a familiar, dull pain. She rose quietly and opened the bedside drawer.

Inside rested the navy-blue gift box she had hidden earlier that evening. She ran her fingertips across the smooth ribbon, remembering the hope she had felt while wrapping it. Eight years. Eight anniversaries. Every single year she had hoped things would get better. Every year she had convinced herself they were only one miracle — one positive test, one successful treatment — away from becoming the couple they used to be.

Perhaps next year, she thought, a tear slipping down her cheek. Perhaps next year he’ll remember. Perhaps next year we’ll be happy again.

She gently closed the drawer, swallowing the lump in her throat. Some hopes, she was learning, were heavier than others.

The following morning, Cathrene woke before sunrise, as she always did. The left side of the bed was cold and untouched. She prepared coffee herself in the kitchen despite having a full household staff. It had become a quiet ritual from their first year of marriage — a small act of love. Gregory used to joke that no coffee in the world tasted as good as the one she made with her own hands.

Back then, he used to kiss her forehead every morning. He used to thank her with genuine warmth. He used to ask about her dreams, her fears, her day.

She smiled sadly at the memory, stirring the coffee slowly. People rarely noticed when love disappeared. It didn’t vanish overnight in dramatic fights or betrayals. It left one small habit at a time. One forgotten kiss. One unanswered message. One missed anniversary. Until two strangers quietly occupied the places where lovers once stood.

Gregory entered the dining room dressed sharply for work, his expression already distant.

“Morning,” he muttered.

“Good morning,” she replied softly, pouring his coffee exactly the way he liked it — no sugar, just a splash of milk.

He barely glanced at the cup. His phone buzzed on the table. A smile — warm, genuine, almost boyish — crossed his face as he read the message.

Cathrene noticed. It was the warmest smile she had seen from him in months. Her heart twisted painfully.

“Good news?” she asked, trying to keep her voice light.

Gregory quickly locked the screen. “Just work.”

She nodded, forcing herself to believe him. She truly wanted to. “I spoke to Dr. Rowan’s office yesterday,” she said carefully, watching his reaction. “They’ve scheduled another consultation for Friday.”

Gregory’s expression hardened instantly, the warmth vanishing like it had never existed. “I thought we agreed to stop wasting money on this.”

“It’s only a consultation,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “Please.”

“We’ve been through this enough, Cathrene.” His tone was flat, exhausted.

She lowered her eyes to her untouched cup, fighting back the sting of tears. “I know. We’ve tried every specialist. Every test. Maybe… there’s something we’ve missed.”

Gregory pushed his chair back abruptly, the scraping sound harsh in the quiet room. “What we’ve missed?” He laughed bitterly, the sound cutting deep. “Eight years, Cathrene. Eight years.”

His voice wasn’t loud. Somehow, that made it hurt even more — the quiet finality of it.

“How many more doctors do you need before accepting reality?”

She swallowed hard, her throat tight. “I just don’t want us to give up on each other.”

He stared at her for a long moment, something unreadable in his eyes. Then he said quietly, almost under his breath, “I’m tired.”

Not of the treatments. Not of the appointments.

Of her.

Cathrene understood the words he hadn’t spoken. They sliced through her like glass. She stood quickly as he picked up his briefcase.

“Wait.”

He stopped at the doorway.

She hurried to the dining cabinet and retrieved the navy-blue gift box. “I forgot to give you this yesterday.”

He looked at it without reaching for it. “You bought me something?”

“It was our anniversary,” she whispered, her voice cracking just slightly.

For the briefest second, guilt flickered across Gregory’s face — raw and uncomfortable. Then it disappeared behind a wall of indifference.

“You shouldn’t have.”

“I wanted to.”

He accepted the box more out of obligation than excitement, tucking it under his arm without unwrapping it. “I’ll open it later. I’ll be late tonight.”

Before she could respond, he walked out. The front door closed with a heavy finality that echoed through the enormous, empty mansion. Cathrene remained standing in the dining room long after his car had disappeared down the driveway. The untouched breakfast slowly grew cold, just like the hope in her chest.

At Ashford Pharmaceuticals, Cathrene threw herself into work with fierce determination. Meeting after meeting. Presentation after presentation. Contracts. Budgets. Expansion plans that would secure hundreds of jobs and millions in revenue. Everyone praised her composure, her sharp mind, her leadership.

No one noticed how she quietly rubbed her wedding ring whenever her mind wandered to the empty side of the bed. No one saw the way her shoulders trembled slightly when she was alone in her office.

Just after lunch, her assistant entered with a tablet. “Mrs. Ashford, Dr. Rowan’s office called again.”

Cathrene looked up, hope and dread warring inside her. “What did they say?”

“They asked if both you and your husband would be attending Friday’s appointment.”

Cathrene hesitated, her fingers tightening around a pen. Then she forced a polite, professional smile. “Tell them… I’ll do my best to convince him.”

As the assistant left, Cathrene stared at the old family photograph on her desk — taken during happier times. Two smiling newlyweds, full of dreams and hope, arms wrapped around each other like nothing could ever tear them apart. She reached for the frame, tracing Gregory’s younger face with a trembling finger.

Just then, her phone vibrated. An unknown number.

She answered. “Hello?”

A calm, professional male voice spoke. “Mrs. Ashford?”

“Yes?”

“This is Dr. Elias Rowan. I need to speak with you. There are… matters regarding your fertility journey that cannot wait until Friday.”

Cathrene’s fingers tightened around the phone until her knuckles turned white. Dr. Rowan had never called her directly before. Something in his serious tone made her heart sink like a stone.

“What happened, Doctor?”

A long, heavy silence followed on the other end.

Then he quietly replied, “I believe it’s time you knew the truth.”

The line went silent.

Cathrene sat frozen in her luxurious office, the weight of eight years of waiting crashing down on her all at once. Whatever truth Dr. Rowan was about to reveal, she instinctively knew one thing:

It would change everything.