Ch41 - Baby’s not mine?

The door clicked shut behind them.

Nora reached out and brushed her fingers over the little mobile hanging above the crib — a delicate cloud in the center, surrounded by tiny stars that chimed softly when touched. 

The room faced south, bright with sunlight. Half of it had been set up as a play area with mats; the safety railings still leaned against the wall, waiting to be installed. A sofa sat nearby, along with a diaper-changing table, a still-unopened bottle warmer, and a baby rocker. 

The whole place radiated that quiet excitement of welcoming new life.

“You got news this good and didn’t think to tell us?” Nora smiled. Just two hours earlier, she’d found out — purely by accident — that Marcus’s fiancée was pregnant. Her tone carried no reproach.

Marcus turned, settling onto the sofa. “I wanted to wait until things were stable before saying anything.”

“But your father and I aren’t outsiders, are we?” There was a sharp edge in Nora’s eyes now.

He stayed silent.

She set down the toy and joined him on the couch. “Tell me something — was this a planned thing, getting her pregnant before the wedding? Did you even go with Allison to her checkups? Do you know if the dates line up — conception and… well, you know.”

Marcus’s head snapped toward her. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to say anything yet. You two always start interrogating. Her family owns a hospital, Mom. They’re not exactly careless — she’s getting the best care possible.”

“Listen to you, already defensive.” Nora frowned slightly. “It’s not unreasonable to want to confirm something so important, is it?”

His tone dropped, heavy. “What are you trying to say?”

She softened her voice again, but it came with that practiced, coaxing tone he knew too well. “All I mean is, just to be safe — maybe you should do a paternity test.”

Her words were gentle as ever, but to Marcus they hit like a knife to the ear. He shot to his feet, staring at her in disbelief. “You think the baby’s not mine?”

“Marcus,” she said quickly, grabbing his hand, “that’s not what I meant. I trust her, of course I do. But you know how strict our family is — it’s just procedure. When I was pregnant with you, your grandmother made me take one too.”

What she didn’t say out loud was that back then, technology hadn’t allowed prenatal tests; she’d had to wait until he was born. And that report was how she discovered the family’s hidden genetic disorder.

Marcus’s frown eased slightly, but his shoulders stayed rigid. “How come I’ve never heard of this so-called ‘tradition’? Do we really need to keep doing it? What if it hurts the baby?”

“It won’t,” Nora assured, calm but firm. “It’s not like the old amniocentesis. These days, it’s just a blood draw from the mother — you can detect fetal DNA as early as seven weeks. Completely safe.”

He hesitated, then shook his head. “Allison would lose it if she found out. And her family? Forget it — they’d see it as an insult.”

Nora lowered her eyes, thinking. “Then tell her it’s for genetic screening — say we’ve got a family history of something and need to check. We can compare the results quietly afterward.”

The room went still.

Marcus sat back down, knuckles pressed to his lips. After a few long seconds, he shook his head again. “No. She’d find out, and that’d be worse than just asking outright.”

He looked up at her. “Was this Dad’s idea?”

Nora arched a brow and glanced away. “He doesn’t know yet. We’ll tell him once we get the report.”

Something cold stirred in Marcus’s chest. His expression hardened. “This doesn’t feel right. Why are you so insistent? Are you hiding something from me?”

Nora looked at him — eyes complicated, lips parting like she wanted to say something — but no words came out.

“There’s definitely something you’re not telling me. If you don’t say it, I’m not agreeing to anything.”

Nora knew that tone — once Marcus dug in, there was no moving him. She sighed quietly, realizing there was no way around it. “Alright,” she said at last, voice low. 

“I never told you this before, but… the Ashford men carry a recessive genetic condition.” She hesitated for a beat, then forced the words out. “Low sperm count.”

Marcus’s pupils contracted sharply. “That serious, and you never thought to mention it?”

He raked a hand through his hair, trying to process it. “Low doesn’t mean zero, right? It doesn’t mean it’s impossible?”

Nora thought of the five long years it had taken for her to finally have him. With that diagnosis, natural conception was possible, yes — but the odds were barely 1-5%. 

She didn’t answer his question directly. “Even if I’d told you earlier, what difference would it make? I already planned that once you two got married, you’d start IVF right away.”

Too much information hit him all at once. Marcus sat in silence, thoughts spinning.

If Allison ever found out about this genetic issue, would she even still marry him? She’d made it clear she wanted kids — heirs to carry on her family’s medical legacy.

And now… the more pressing question hit him like a punch to the gut: what if the baby she’s carrying isn’t his?

He thought back to their fight — nearly a month without speaking. If, during that time…

A faint scrape of shoe leather against the floor snapped him out of it — subtle but sharp, too high-pitched to be his mother’s heels. His head jerked up just as the door swung open. 

Allison stood there, cold and composed, her eyes locking with his.

Nora froze, a rush of heat flooding her face. How long had she been there? How much had she heard?

Forcing a calm smile, Nora stepped in quickly. “The butler really should’ve told us you were here, dear.”

Allison’s lips curved politely. “Marcus added my fingerprint to the door system a few days ago — said I could come and go as I please. I figured I’d start getting used to my future home.”

Marcus’s jaw tightened. “Was there something you needed?” His voice came out stiff, his expression unreadable.

Allison’s fingers pressed lightly around the folder she held — a paper report — her tone perfectly even. “Seems I picked the wrong time. Didn’t mean to interrupt your little talk. I’ll head out.”

Aside from the brief shadow that crossed her face when she walked in, she showed no hint of anger. If she’d overheard anything, she hid it perfectly — like nothing had happened at all.

“No, no,” Nora said lightly, looping in before things got worse. “You two talk. I was just on my way out anyway.” Her eyes flicked, ever so briefly, to Allison’s stomach. “A friend’s waiting for me for afternoon tea.”

Allison smiled — polite, poised, untouchable. “Of course. I’ll stay here and sit for a bit. Have a lovely time.”

“Good. You two talk,” Nora said, glancing meaningfully at her son before slipping out.

Marcus’s chest still felt tight, like someone had placed a weight over his lungs.

Allison found herself a seat and started casually looking around the nursery.

He glanced over. “Didn’t I tell you to stop wearing heels? It’s dangerous.”

She scoffed lightly. “I’ve been wearing them since I was a teenager. I walk better in heels than flats.” She shot him a side-eye and adjusted the pillow behind her lower back.

Marcus stared at her for a beat, then decided not to dance around it. “How much did you hear — me and my mother?”

“Hmm?” She looked up, all airy indifference. “What conversation? I just got here.”

He inhaled sharply, then exhaled through his nose, glancing at the crib in front of them. Logic and emotion wrestled in his head before he finally said, quiet but firm,

“When you have time… go get a blood test. A paternity one.”