Chapter 6

Sara Michaels

I pressed my palms over my ears, trying to block out the sounds drifting down from upstairs. Emily’s giggles, mixed with soft moans that made my stomach turn.

Tom’s low voice answered her in a very intimate and possessive way. Something I thought he would only do with me. I could not believe to imagine what was probably going on in there. But it made my heart bleed.

"Tom...Stooooppp....It tickles..." Emily exclaimed, her high pitched voice was shaky.

Their bed…the bed that used to be mine…creaked rhythmically. I squeezed my eyes shut. I didn’t want to hear this. Didn’t want to imagine him touching her the way he once touched me. The way he promised he always would.

My phone alarm suddenly cut through the noise, sharp and insistent. I jumped, heart racing. I had completely forgotten.

“ The appointment.” I face palmed myself.

I needed to get checked. My periods hadn’t come in a month. Stress, probably. Or maybe… No. I pushed the thought away. I couldn’t be pregnant. Tom and I always made sure of it...

I slipped out of the house quietly, not bothering to change out of the stained dress. The hospital was only twenty minutes away. I drove in silence, windows down, letting the wind dry the tears I refused to acknowledge.

At the clinic, the receptionist waved me through. I sat in the familiar exam room, waiting for Mrs. Piper…my usual doctor, the sweet Filipino woman in her late fifties who always asked about my mom and gave me hugs instead of lectures. We were close. She felt like family.

But when the door opened, it wasn’t Mrs. Piper.

A man stepped in…he was tall, easily 6’7, broad shoulders filling the white coat. Tattoos peeked out from under his collar, dark lines curling down his neck and disappearing beneath the fabric. His eyes were glacier-blue, cold and piercing, even behind the surgical mask. He carried himself with quiet authority.

I blinked, startled. “You’re… not Mrs. Piper.”

He pulled the mask down just enough to speak. “She’s on leave. I’m Dr. Kingsley Salvatore. Your new doctor.” His voice was deep, calm, almost gentle. “You’re Mrs Sara M. McCarthy?”

I nodded, suddenly aware of how disheveled I looked…sauce still dried on my dress, hair messy, eyes red from crying. “Yes. Sorry. I was expecting…”

“No need to apologize.” He sat across from me, opening my file. “Let’s get started. You’re here because your periods are late?”

Heat crept up my neck. I nodded again, staring at my hands. “A month. I thought… maybe stress. Or something else.”

He asked simple questions and was strictly professional. When was the last time? Any nausea? Pain? I answered honestly, voice small. He listened without judgment, scribbling notes.

After the exam and a quick blood draw, he leaned back. “You’re not pregnant.”

Relief flooded me so fast I almost laughed. “Really?”

“Stress,” he said simply. “And the Plan B you’ve been taking regularly…it disrupts your cycle. Your body’s protecting itself. You need rest. Proper sleep. Less tension. Eat better. No more skipping meals.”

I nodded, cheeks burning. I’d never had a male doctor before…especially not one who looked like him. Even behind the mask earlier, I could tell he was breathtaking. Strong jaw, clean lines, eyes that seemed to see straight through me.

He gave me a few more instructions…vitamins, light exercise, no caffeine after noon. I tried to focus on his words, but his eyes kept pulling me in. Distracting. Steady. Kind in a way Tom’s never were anymore.

His phone buzzed on the desk. He glanced at it, then answered without hesitation.

“Yeah,” he said into the receiver. “The app design classes are ready. We’ve got the space, the equipment… The problem is, no students. It’s a new academy. Everyone’s still going to McCarthy Tech Group. They’ve got the name, the reputation.”

He listened, rubbed the back of his neck. “We’ll figure it out. Keep advertising. Someone will come.”

He ended the call, looked at me, and caught me staring.

“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

He shook his head. “No harm done.”

I hesitated, then spoke before I could talk myself out of it. “I’m… interested. In joining the class.”

He stared at me like I’d grown a second head. “You’re serious?”

“Yes. How much does it cost?” I asked, clutching my purse lightly.

He exhaled a short laugh…surprised, almost disbelieving. “It’s free. We’re just starting. No one’s signed up in months. McCarthy Tech has the market locked down.”

I swallowed. “I still want to join. Even if it’s free.”

He studied me for a long moment, like he was trying to figure out if I was joking. Then he reached into his drawer, pulled out a card, and slid it across the desk.

“Tomorrow at 10 a.m, be at this address. Don’t be late. We will be glad to have you, Mrs McCarthy”

I took the card, fingers trembling slightly. “Thank you.” Being called Mrs McCarthy felt like a felony. It made my insides twist.

“Please, I prefer you call me Sara.” I said, respectively.

He stood, offered his hand. “I should be thanking you. You’re the first one who didn’t run the other way.”

I shook his hand. His grip was warm, and something inside me settled, just a little. I felt like I had known him all my life ..But I didn't.

I stood, clutching the card like a lifeline. A small piece of hope in the middle of all this mess.

If I couldn’t find a job…

I could create one.

I’d seen Tom work late nights, watched him from the doorway while he coded, planned, built. I never got close enough to really learn, but I remembered enough. Ideas had been sitting in my head for years.

I smiled lightly, “Thank you, Dr. Salvatore.”

“Kingsley,” he corrected gently, with a sweet smile on his face. “See you tomorrow, Sara.”