Chapter 4

Starting Over

Ava’s POV

The hospital lights felt too bright when I walked back in, like the whole building was staring at me, waiting to see what else could possibly go wrong tonight.

Dr. Whitfield met me in a small consultation room instead of the waiting area, which told me before he said a single word that this wasn’t going to be a quick conversation. He had a folder open in front of him, his expression careful in the way doctors get when they’re choosing their words with more precision than usual.

“First,” he said, “I want you to know the baby is safe. The pregnancy itself is progressing normally.”

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “Okay. Okay, that’s good.”

“But we ran a broader panel on your bloodwork given some of the markers we saw, and I want to talk to you about what came back.” He turned the folder slightly toward me, pointing to a section I didn’t fully understand.

 “There’s an indication of a rare inherited condition, one that can affect fetal development if it’s present on both sides. It doesn’t mean anything is wrong right now. But it does mean this pregnancy needs to be monitored much more closely than a typical one, and it means we need more information than we currently have.”

“What kind of information?”

“Family medical history. Yours, and the baby’s father’s. Some of these conditions only become a real risk when both parents carry a certain gene. Without his history, we’re working with half a picture.”

There it was. The one thing I couldn’t give him.

“I can’t get that,” I said quietly. “The baby’s father and I — we’re not together anymore. As of tonight, actually.”

Dr. Whitfield’s expression softened, but he didn’t push, which I was grateful for. “I understand this is a difficult time. We’ll work with what we have and monitor you closely regardless. Just know that if circumstances change, that information would help us a great deal.”

I nodded and thanked him, and somehow made it out to the taxi still waiting outside before the tears finally came. Not loud, dramatic crying — just quiet, exhausted tears that slid down my face while the driver pretended not to notice in the rearview mirror.

I couldn’t call Lucas. Not after tonight. Not when the first thing he’d hear alongside “I’m pregnant” would be “and I need your medical history,” a request that would sound, to a man who already believed I was capable of manipulation, like exactly the kind of leverage he’d expect me to use. I wouldn’t do that to myself or to this baby. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

I gave the driver the name of a small hotel downtown instead of any address that belonged to anyone I knew. I didn’t want Grandma Margaret’s sympathy tonight, however genuine it was, and I certainly didn’t want to show up on a friend’s doorstep sobbing at eleven at night with a suitcase and a story too complicated to explain in a few sentences. I needed a room with four plain walls and nobody’s eyes on me. I needed to just breathe.

The hotel room was small and forgettable in exactly the way I needed it to be. I sat on the edge of the bed still in my emerald dress, the one I’d worn with so much hope only hours earlier, and stared at the ultrasound picture propped against the lamp on the nightstand.

“It’s just us for now,” I told it softly. “I know that’s not what I promised you earlier tonight. I’m sorry. We’re going to figure it out.”

I was still sitting there, half-formed thoughts about apartments and jobs and doctors drifting uselessly through my exhausted mind, when my phone rang again. I almost didn’t answer, assuming it was the hospital calling back with some follow-up detail. But the name on the screen stopped me.

Richard Bennett.

My grandfather’s lawyer. A name I hadn’t heard spoken aloud in almost three years, not since the quiet, small funeral where he’d stood at the back of the room and offered me his condolences with a strange kind of formality, like there was more he wanted to say and hadn’t.

I answered, confused. “Mr. Bennett?”

“Ava. I apologize for calling so late, I hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time.” His voice was calm, careful, the voice of a man who’d spent decades choosing his words for a living.

“It’s… it’s actually been a very long day,” I admitted, too tired to manage anything more polished than the truth. “Is everything alright?”

“That depends on how you look at it,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for the right moment to reach out to you, Ava, and I believe that moment has arrived. Your grandfather left specific instructions before he passed. He asked me to contact you only under one particular condition.”

Something in his tone made the hair on my arms rise. “What condition?”

There was a brief pause on the line, just long enough to feel deliberate. “That your marriage to Lucas Sterling had ended.”

I sat up straighter, gripping the phone tighter. “How could he have possibly known that would happen? He died before I even met Lucas.”

“Your grandfather was a very thorough man,” Richard said, and I could hear something almost like sympathy in his voice. “He understood a great deal more about the Sterling family, and about the circumstances of your marriage, than you were ever told. I think it’s best we discuss this in person rather than over the phone. Are you available to meet tomorrow morning?”

My mind was spinning too fast to fully process what he was implying, but I found myself nodding even though he couldn’t see me. “Yes. Yes, of course. Where?”

He gave me the address of his office downtown, and I wrote it with a shaking hand on the hotel notepad, my exhaustion momentarily forgotten under a rush of confusion and something that felt uncomfortably close to dread.

“Mr. Bennett,” I said, before he could hang up, “can you at least tell me what this is about? Please. I’ve had the worst night of my life, and I don’t think I can handle any more surprises without some kind of warning.”

He was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice carried a weight I hadn’t heard from him before.

“Your grandfather didn’t just leave you a letter, Ava,” he said. “He left you an entire company.”