My Boyfriend’s Dad Is My Gynecologist のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 131 - チャプター 140

BethI didn’t know how long I sat in that waiting room.Time didn’t feel real. Just a swirl of voices and footsteps, phones ringing, heels clicking. The same cheap coffee smell lingering near the vending machines. The same vinyl chairs creaking under anxious bodies.I couldn’t feel mine.Not really.Rachel sat beside me, one hand in mine, the other tangled in her own hair. Adam stood nearby, arms crossed tight over his chest, watching every person who came and went like one of them might be Madison.No one said much.There was nothing to say.Then—finally—the door opened.A man in scrubs stepped in, mask dangling from one ear. His expression was tired but calm. I was on my feet before he even said a word.“Elizabeth Monroe?” he asked.“Yes,” I breathed. “That’s me.”He nodded once. “I’m Dr. Graham. I operated on Dr. Cole.”The world narrowed to just him.“He’s going to be fine,” he said gently.My knees nearly buckled.Rachel’s grip on my hand tightened.“The bullet fractured his clav

BethThe house had finally gone quiet.Dinner plates were rinsed. Leftovers stashed in the fridge. Stacy was propped up on the couch with his sling, remote in one hand, stubbornness in the other. And I… was breathing.Not deep, not peaceful. But steady.Normal.Or close enough.The moment my phone buzzed, I glanced at the screen and smiled.Rachel.I picked it up, hit speaker, and set it on the counter while pouring two glasses of ginger ale.“Hey, Rach, you’re on speaker,” I warned immediately.“Oooh, even better,” her voice crackled through, cheerful and dramatic as ever. “Guess who just saw the news?”Stacy’s head turned slightly, not enough to strain, but enough to tell he was listening.“I’m guessing everyone,” I said dryly, sliding one of the glasses his way. “But yeah—we saw it. Detective Moreno was not happy.”Rachel let out a whistle. “Madison’s mugshot is straight-up unhinged. I’ve seen better composure in Walmart clearance aisles during Black Friday.”Stacy snorted.“Detect

BethThree weeks.That’s how long it had been since the shooting.Three weeks since everything changed.Stacy was better — not fully healed, not even close, but every day he walked a little straighter and climbed the stairs without swearing under his breath. His sling was a permanent accessory now, like a badge of dishonor he refused to let go of until he absolutely had to.He was still on strict physical restrictions — no lifting, no strenuous activity, no over‑enthusiastic hugging — but he could move around the house with less grumbling and more actual forward momentum. And he even laughed again. Like a person, not a wounded cat.This morning he’d gotten a call from the DA. They wanted him to come downtown later to go over some details about the night of the shooting — testimony, timeline, evidence chain, that sort of thing. They’d reassured him they weren’t looking for another statement, just clearing up questions before the pre‑trial hearing.He’d asked if I was going with him.I’

Beth“I can’t tell if that was a good reaction or a bad one,” I whispered to Rachel.She stared down the hallway like it was a live crime scene. “Well… he didn’t say ‘oh shit’ and disappear out the window, so that’s a good sign.”Before I could even answer, I heard fast footsteps.Then—Stacy appeared like a man possessed.He didn’t stop. Didn’t speak. Just scooped me up in both arms, careful with his healing shoulder but clearly running on pure adrenaline, and kissed me like it was the only thing holding him together.When he finally pulled back, his eyes were wild. “So… it’s not the flu, huh?”I blinked up at him, heart pounding. “Apparently not.”“And you’re—” He trailed off, like saying it too soon might break the spell. “You’re really pregnant?”I nodded. “All four tests agree.”He stared at me. Then grinned so wide it cracked his whole face open.“You’re not mad?” I asked, still bracing, still uncertain.“Mad?” His laugh burst out like disbelief. “Beth, are you kidding me?”He se

BethWhile we waited, Stacy gestured toward the rolling stool near the computer.“Okay. I know what you’re thinking.”I narrowed my eyes. “Do you?”“I’m not your doctor,” he said carefully. “And I respect that.”“Good start.”“But,” he continued, holding up a finger, “we’re here after hours. There are no nurses. No intake staff. No one to document anything. And if Adam’s going to do this properly, your chart needs to be updated.”I hesitated. “Stacy—”“I’m not examining you,” he said quickly, like he’d already rehearsed this argument in his head. “I’m not diagnosing anything. I’m not interpreting results. I’m not touching you inappropriately or crossing lines. I’m just entering basic information. Dates. Weight. History. The exact same stuff a front-desk nurse would do during business hours.”Rachel nodded from the counter. “He’s annoyingly right.”I shot her a look. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”“I am,” she said cheerfully. “I just also enjoy accuracy.”I sighed and looked back