جميع فصول : الفصل -الفصل 170

The morning sunlight poured through the windows, highlighting tiny dust motes dancing lazily in the air. The remnants of Carter’s birthday party still lingered—a few balloons floated near the ceiling, half-deflated and swaying. Streamers hung loosely across the staircase railing. The faint scent of leftover cake still hovered in the kitchen, mixed with the aroma of coffee and toast. Carter and Meredith sat cross-legged at the breakfast table, working on a puzzle together, occasionally bickering over whose turn it was to place a piece. Their laughter echoed through the house, the sound vibrant and full, and Monet’s chest swelled at the sight. She moved around the kitchen quietly, wiping down counters, gathering dishes. Her mind was restless, turning over the events of the past few hours: Mara’s brief appearance, the tense conversations, Juliet’s emotional confessions, and Richard’s unwavering devotion and the way he proved it last night. The house was alive, yet she felt a strange

The drive back home was quiet. Carter chattered occasionally from the back seat, mostly dinosaur facts, and how he couldn’t wait to show Meredith he could almost straighten his arm again, but Monet barely registered any of it. Every time she blinked, she saw Dr. Kendricks’ face, heard his calm but heavy voice. Another round of tests… another consulting doctor… It’s important… clarity now is better than uncertainty later. Didn't the women's fertility clinic give her enough clarity, barely weeks, before her wedding? Wasn't the reality that her mother threw her away enough clarity of her uselessness? What more did Dr Kendricks aim to throw her way? Her grip on the steering wheel tightened until her knuckles turned pale. By the time she pulled into the driveway, her heartbeat had climbed into a fast, uneven rhythm. She sat there for a moment, eyes closed, breath shallow, before Carter unbuckled himself and called out, “Monny, are you gonna come inside?” She force

Monet woke before dawn. The house was still, the sky still dark, the world outside barely humming to life. She slipped out of bed quietly so as not to wake Richard, who had fallen asleep with one arm wrapped tightly around her waist, as if subconsciously afraid she might slip away in the night. She paused for a second, looking at him. There was a softness on his face that few people ever saw. A tenderness he never admitted he had. The faint crease of worry still lingered between his brows, even in sleep. Monet brushed a thumb over it, smoothing it gently. “I’m okay,” she whispered, though she wasn’t sure if it was for him or herself. She stepped out of the room, careful, quiet, and padded barefoot into the hallway. The early morning chill brushed against her skin, grounding her as she moved through the house. By the time she stepped into the kitchen, her hands were already trembling. The phone felt heavy..Not because it weighed much, but because the decision it represented d

The morning air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of wet pavement and distant blossoms. Monet had dressed carefully, though nothing she wore could shield her from the storm churning inside her chest. Her fingers twisted the strap of her bag as she watched Carter and Meredith playfully chase each other in the living room, their laughter cutting through the quiet tension she tried so desperately to hide. Richard appeared at the doorway, eyes calm but attentive, taking in her taut posture. Without a word, he crossed the room and took her hand, his grip warm, grounding. “Are you ready?” he asked softly. “I… think so,” she whispered, voice barely audible. He didn’t respond with words, only a gentle squeeze. That silent support bolstered her enough to step outside. The drive to the clinic was quiet, the hum of the tires on the asphalt nearly deafening compared to the thoughts swirling in her head. She kept her gaze fixed out the window, refusing to meet Richard’s steady, comforting ey

Monet woke before dawn again, the house still and quiet, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath. She didn’t move to wake Richard. His arm, half-draped over the edge of the bed, seemed almost like a lifeline, yet she couldn’t bring herself to disturb the steady rise and fall of his chest. She tiptoed to the kitchen, cradling a mug of tea, letting the warmth seep into her chilled hands. The kettle’s soft hum was comforting in the emptiness. Richard appeared in the doorway without a sound, barefoot, eyes bleary but soft. “Can’t sleep?” She shook her head not at all surprised that Richard had followed her to the kitchen. He'd become her shadow these past few days and for that she was very grateful. “Too much thinking… too much fear.” Came her quiet reply. He crossed the room and settled beside her on the porch swing, arm wrapping around her shoulders. Silence enveloped them. Sometimes words were unnecessary. Finally, Monet whispered, “Richard… what if it’s… bad