Chapter 2 A Coincidence

║Chicago, Illinois, US║

“Annalise Gracelyn Scott. 29 years old. Born in Ohio with blood type O. No records of serious illness, and the last medical treatment was three months ago. Is there anything important I missed from your medical history?”

I blinked for a moment—looking at the man in front of me as he listed off my medical records and identity aloud as if nothing had happened between us.

Well, technically, nothing ‘should’ have happened between us.

"That’s all," I said.

“Alright then. Maybe we can start with hearing your complaints before we proceed with the examination, Mrs. Scott?”

The man, wearing glasses perched on his nose, looked up to face me as I sat across from him.

Okay, I had to admit—this man really did look like a doctor interrogating his patient.

He looked… completely different from the man from last night.

And maybe I should do the same—forget what happened last night, like two adults who had a one-night stand.

“Miss Keaton would be better, I think.”

“Oh?”

He furrowed his brows while glancing at the computer screen in front of him, which I was sure was displaying my identity—my old identity that I hadn’t had the chance to update in the last three months, not with all the chaos that came with my move to Chicago.

“I got divorced three months ago, so I think my last name should be changed.”

I shouldn’t have said that to this man.

But if I remembered correctly, I had mentioned a little bit about why I came to Chicago—if he even remembered anything I said last night.

Or… maybe he had a twin or something, and the man I met last night was someone entirely different from the one sitting in front of me now.

Damn, that possibility actually existed—and could be happening right now.

“I see. My apologies. Would you like me to help you update your medical records?”

I blinked again.

Well, no harm in making a new start—starting with my medical identity.

“Yes, please.”

Goodbye, Scott, and all the awful things I had to endure because of that cursed last name.

I wanted to curse my father’s last name, too, but I figured it was still better than using Alban’s.

“We’re done. Congratulations on your new name, Miss Keaton. Or is that your maiden name?”

“Yeah, something like that.” I nodded again.

“Alright, so what brings you here? You know this is an OB-GYN clinic, right?”

Back to the original question—he repeated it again.

And this time, I had no more excuses not to explain why I had to come to an OB-GYN appointment all by myself.

This doctor showed absolutely no signs of recognizing me.

Did he really have a twin?

“I haven’t gotten my period in the last three months, even though I usually get it on the same date every month. This has never happened to me before, so I’m a little worried.”

In the end, I gave in and decided to just tell him.

“Menstrual cycles aren’t always punctual and can be affected by many things. But before we figure out what might be causing this, we need to do a few tests—we might find the cause that way. Did you happen to take a pregnancy test before coming in?”

I almost scoffed at that question.

“Like I said, I got divorced three months ago. So I don’t think pregnancy is even remotely possible.”

The doctor nodded a bit awkwardly, clearly realizing he had overlooked a detail I’d already shared.

The questions in my head kept piling up, but I knew I couldn’t ask any of them.

I wasn’t the one supposed to ask questions here.

My only job was to answer, not interrogate.

“This might sound a bit uncomfortable, but it’s part of the examination. What’s your recent sexual activity like?”

“I always use protection during sex.”

“Thank you for the information,” he nodded again. “Even based on what you’ve shared, the chances of pregnancy are very low. But I’ll still need you to take a pregnancy test—just to be sure. Would you be okay with that?”

“Can’t you just prescribe me something to help get my period back? I think that’s all I really need.”

I regretted not walking out the second I saw his face.

Twin or not, this situation and these questions were making me seriously uncomfortable.

“Of course—but only after the test confirms you’re not pregnant. I know this isn’t easy for you, but it’s a required procedure.”

And yeah, I didn’t really have a choice.

I had to go through every step of the procedure—even though I was sure, beyond a doubt, that…

I couldn’t possibly be pregnant.

No, that was absolutely impossible.

“No pregnancy, right?” I asked about fifteen minutes later—right after completing the test as the doctor had instructed.

“I think it’s just a hormonal imbalance that delayed your cycle. You might be stressed or exhausted. I can prescribe something to help regulate your hormones.”

“I’ve been taking birth control pills for the past three years. Could that be a factor?”

“Are you still taking them now?”

“No, I am not.”

Well, I stopped taking them when I had a miscarriage three months ago.

Another impossibility—how could I possibly be pregnant while on birth control the entire time I was married to Alban?

I never wanted to have children with that man.

“It’s possible your cycle was affected when you stopped taking them. But don’t worry—we’ll get it under control soon.”

The doctor did something on his computer, and I was sure he was typing up a prescription like he said.

“If you’re open to it, I could suggest a different kind of contraception—something other than the pill. It might help.”

“I don’t plan on using contraception anytime soon.”

“Are you planning to have children?”

I nearly burst out laughing—a sarcastic laugh meant entirely for myself.

“Wouldn’t this be the third time I’m saying I just got divorced three months ago?”

“Shit.”

The doctor in front of me cursed under his breath, then closed his eyes and covered his face for a moment.

“I’m sorry for what I did. First, I should’ve remembered the information you gave me. And second, I shouldn’t have cursed in front of you—that’s against protocol.”

“It’s okay,” I nodded briefly. “So, can I get my medication now?”

“Of course. I’ve already prepared the medicine and vitamins you can take.”

“Alright. Thank you.”

After saying that, I should’ve just walked out of the room and gone to the pharmacy to pick up my prescription.

But a short sentence from the doctor stopped me in my tracks and froze me in the doorway.

“Annalise Gracelyn Keaton,” he paused. “I think you were wrong when you said we’d never meet again.”

Damn. He really is that guy.

***

“I don’t know what else I should tell you while we wait for the result of my pastry. I can’t make anything else because these were the only ingredients available in your kitchen. But I promise I’ll send over samples of other pastries to this café after I get home and buy more supplies. You can taste them tomorrow—or tonight if needed.”

I looked up with the apron neatly tied around my neck.

It felt like I had been walking on a path of good luck ever since I divorced my asshole of a husband and chose a road I never thought I’d take. Sure, I had just experienced a shocking moment at the hospital earlier today, but now, luck had found me again.

Right after leaving the hospital, my eyes caught sight of a job opening posted on the window of a small café at the end of the street. And lucky me—the café was looking for a pastry chef.

Then, like a scene straight out of a movie about a female lead getting lucky after hitting rock bottom, I walked into the café and met the owner. We talked for fifteen minutes, and I offered to make a sample pastry with the ingredients she had.

And… here I am now.

“Wait a minute,” said a blonde-haired woman with striking brown eyes as she snapped her fingers. Her floral dress and pink lipstick matched perfectly with her pale skin—making it very clear that her taste in fashion had influenced the vibe of the café.

This café was so… warm.

Flowers were carefully placed on every wooden table. A few tables were outside, allowing customers to enjoy their afternoon while watching the hustle and bustle of Chicago’s streets.

Well, I wouldn’t mind spending hours between ovens and flour if I got the job here.

“Didn’t you say you studied law and worked at a law firm for the past four years? Are you seriously applying for a pastry chef position here?”

There were creases on the woman’s forehead—Maisie. No, not the kind that came with age. It was the kind you get when you’re confused about why someone with a background in law would suddenly apply for a pastry chef job.

Honestly, I couldn’t blame her. I was still confused about how drastically my life had changed.

“My mom loved baking, and I love everything about pastries. You don’t need to worry about my commitment because I can assure you I’m not doing this on a whim. This might sound crazy, but this is my dream job—not sitting at a law firm buried in paperwork every day.”

“Well, I might believe your story, but I can’t promise you’ll be satisfied with the pay I can offer. Compared to what you earned at your law firm, this place really can’t offer much. I just opened this café, and it’s the first business I’m running on my own. I’m not even sure it’ll survive a month.”

Maisie shrugged, looking a little defeated.

“Trust me, Maisie. All you have to do is taste my pastry and decide whether or not to hire me. I really hope it’s a yes. And after that, we’ll make this café a place packed with customers.”

“I love your enthusiasm. But don’t get your hopes too high—I'm not even sure about the future of this place.”

Maisie rolled her eyes before taking the pastry I handed her.

“Well, I swear this wasn’t my best pastry, but it was the best I could do with the limited ingredients.”

“Oh, shit!”

Maisie’s eyes widened the moment she took a bite. I panicked a little, thinking maybe she’d burned her tongue.

“Are you okay?” I blinked anxiously.

I was pretty sure I didn’t mess up and use salt instead of sugar… So why was she so shocked?

“Tell me how much salary you want and what equipment you need in the kitchen. I’ll have everything ready by tomorrow morning, and I want to taste more of your pastries, Ann!”

I stayed frozen in place, blinking in surprise. “What do you mean?” I murmured softly.

“I mean, you’re hired, and we’ll talk salary later!” she shouted excitedly.

***

Tonight, I didn’t go to a bar or club like I usually did.

There were actually a lot of things I should be doing in my apartment—like unpacking all the boxes from my move.

But I chose to ignore all that and headed to the rooftop instead, enjoying the glittering lights of Chicago from above.

I figured there was nothing wrong with taking a quiet moment for myself after everything that happened today.

First, I couldn’t believe I got a job.

And second, I had just found a stack of old journals I’d saved since I was a teenager. They were in one of the boxes delivered to my apartment a few days ago—boxes I’d sent through a shipping service before escaping my hometown.

And now here I am, sitting on the rooftop with a blank journal I hadn’t written in for years—something I gave up when life got too busy.

Alright… where should I begin this journal?

The arranged marriage my parents forced me into?

Alban’s infidelity and the way he used to hit me every time we argued?

Or the moment I woke up in the hospital and realized I had just lost my baby?

“Shit!”

I hated moments like this—when I couldn’t hold back my curse as I realized I was crying again.

“Damn you, Alban! I swear I’ll kill you if you ever show up in front of me! ARGH! Shit!”

Then, the curses turned into insults and loud sobs.

This is miserable.

It hurt so much to know that a small part of me still felt sad at the realization that I might never be able to return to my hometown after all the chaos that had happened.

I might never even see my mother again...

“Argh,”

The sobbing and swearing that had been spilling from my lips stopped instantly.

That time, it wasn’t my voice.

I swear, no matter how angry or unhinged I was, my voice would never sound like a man’s groan.

My eyes scanned the rooftop—sweeping across every detail until I spotted a pair of hands raised in the air while the body they belonged to was lying on the ground, half-covered by a pile of chairs left abandoned in the far corner by the barrier wall.

I blinked.

I was pretty sure I’d made sure this place was empty before sitting down and getting lost in my journal.

So, how the hell was someone suddenly here?

And even worse, I recognized that face.

It was the same face of the man who had ruined my morning and haunted my thoughts all afternoon.

“Annalise? We meet again?”

Double shit.

Out of all the millions of people in Chicago, why the hell did I have to run into him again?