Chapter 2

LAURA — 02

“Congratulations, you’re pregnant,” he said but my brows had lifted in shock. He handed me a piece of paper and true to his words, records were all positive for pregnancy.

Slowly, tears gathered in my eyes. My hands went to my lips as my body broke into a sob. 

“B—but the PCOS?” My voice broke.

“PCOS makes it harder, not impossible,” he replied, his eyes glinting with hope and my tears increased. 

When the diagnosis came four years ago, I sobbed into Michael’s shirt. He’d said, ‘No child is worth your joy. We’ll grow old anyway.’ I believed him. PCOS had taught me to stop hoping. I learned to love the life we had.

He made peace with our childlessness long before I did. At least, I thought he had.

This was a miracle. My little angel. 

The doctor gave me some privacy and I grabbed my phone. My hands started to type but something struck me. This was a surprise, too good to just speak about on the phone like it wasn’t a miracle.

I dialed his number noting with relief that he was done with his meeting several minutes ago. He would be on his way home if I wasn’t mistaken.

The excitement in me dulled for a minute when it went straight to voicemail. I tried three more times but nothing.

[ On second thought, I’d love nothing more than to have you home. I have something to tell you.]  

The harsh “read” came underneath the text and I frowned deeply. My heart was beating faster than normal as I tried one more time but his phone had been turned off.

“Mrs Alden,” the doctor called and I snapped up in surprise. 

“Here” he handed me some drugs “Take this doxylamine-pyridoxine for nausea. Stop the stomach meds but I’d like to set you up for antenatal, bring your husband along. Congrats again,” he said and left.  

I walked in sick and left carrying a miracle.

“Daddy’s going to be so happy, little one,” I whispered, rubbing my stomach as I stepped into the hallway.

I didn’t take three full steps before I froze.

Two nurses stood by the charting station, talking in low voices but not quiet enough.

“—poor girl. Same symptoms years ago,” one said, tapping a file.

“Her stomach issues were awful,” the other murmured. “Chronic nausea, fertility complications… that fiancé of hers practically lived here.”

“The Alden man, right? The CEO, what was his name again?”

“Michael.”

My breath hitched.

Michael? Here? Years ago?

Michael had only ever had one fiancée before me and he never told me she’d been sick.

My hand slid protectively over my belly. They couldn’t be talking about her, right? Kayla waters…

I gently shook my head to get rid of the shock. There was no way, Michael’s dead fiancee could ever come up and besides Michael and I never lied to each other. 

If Michael didn’t tell me about Kayla’s previous issues then these nurses didn’t know what they were talking about. 

But just as I was able to convince myself that the nurses gossip was nothing but mistaken identity, a familiar voice snapped through the hallway.

“Kayla, calm down. I’m coming. Just stay where you are.”

Michael was here!? Why was Michael here and on the phone? The same one that I’ve been trying to reach?

My stomach dropped when my mind locked in on what I had heard him say. 

This couldn’t be real. I took a step toward him, but he didn’t see me. His back was tense, his jaw clenched, one hand rubbing the bridge of his nose the way he did when he was scared or frustrated.

“Yes, I have the meds with me. Don’t move, Kayla. I said DON’T move.”

My heart stopped. That name…

It couldn’t be. 

He turned suddenly and strode toward the clinic exit, nearly bumping into a nurse. He murmured something apologetic, then quickened his pace.

I followed, legs heavy, lungs too tight.

Kayla was dead, and I was hearing things. Seeing things too but the moment he stepped into the waiting area, the hallway went soundless.

There she was, the woman from the Delta Co. photo. The one who’s face tugged at my memory. The one I now knew by the hollow feeling in my chest.

She wasn’t poised this time. She was pale, shaking and very much ALIVE.

Sweat dotted her brow as she clutched Michael’s shirt for balance.He had gotten to her in two strides.

“Michael—” she whispered, clutching her stomach.

“Sit down. Slowly.” His voice was low, controlled, gentle, a tone I knew too well. A tone he used on nights my stomach flared so badly I could barely breathe.

He reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a small white bottle. When he turned it, my hand flew to my mouth.

My name was written on the bottle. It was my stomach medicine. My vision swam.

“Here.” He unscrewed the bottle and tapped two pills into his palm. “You need to take them now.”

She swallowed them the way he taught me to, head tilted back, eyes squeezed shut. Her fingers gripping his wrist for balance.

Everything was the same. The tenderness, the patience. The experience. Like muscle memory, like he’d been doing this for years and always for her.

“Michael…” I whispered, voice breaking, but it didn’t reach him.

He was kneeling in front of her, brushing sweaty strands of hair from her forehead. “Breathe, Kayla. I’m right here.”

I wasn’t dreaming. I wasn’t hallucinating. Michael had ignored my calls and texts to attend to his first love. 

What else had he hidden from me?

My legs nearly buckled. I held onto the wall, nails digging into the paint, trying to keep my breathing even as the world narrowed to a pinpoint.

It wasn’t cheating. It wasn’t an affair. It was worse. So much worse.

To know that every touch, every gentle habit,every instinct he ever had with me…everything that made me fall deeper in love with him…

He had learned it from loving her first.

My miracle fluttered under my palm, a tiny reminder of the joy I’d carried seconds ago.

Joy that now felt like a cruel accident.

My breath didn’t come back.