CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX — "COUNTING DAYS"Isabella's POVI didn't sleep.I hadn't slept in three nights, not since the clinic, not since the mirror, not since I'd watched my own face come apart for ten seconds and understood, with a clarity that still sat in my chest like a swallowed stone, exactly how close I had come to losing everything in a single unguarded moment. I lay in the dark beside a husband who believed, or claimed to believe, that I was carrying his child, and I stared at the ceiling and did math until the numbers blurred into something almost like prayer.Gestational dating.I'd learned more about it in seventy-two hours than most physicians learned in a year of residency — every method, every margin of error, every small technical loophole a compromised doctor could exploit if he understood exactly what was being asked of him and was frightened enough, or paid enough, to comply without asking why. Crown-rump length. Last recorded cycle. The specific, forgiving imprecision of
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