The Yeast Connection: A Medical Breakthrough

On our wedding anniversary, I wanted to drive out and buy a cake to celebrate. But the moment I got into the car, I noticed the driver's seat had been pushed forward. There were also a few bread crumbs scattered inside. I called my husband. "Has anyone been driving my car lately?" His voice carried unmistakable guilt. "My cousin borrowed it yesterday for the whole day. Why?" His cousin was six-foot-three—twice my size. More importantly, he was severely allergic to wheat and avoided pastries like the plague. I let out a soft laugh, hung up, and drove straight to the bakery my husband had been frequenting lately. Inside, a sweet-looking girl was chatting and giggling with her coworker. "So what if I'm short? I have to move the seat all the way forward when I drive, but at least someone spoils me!" The moment she saw me, her carefree smile vanished, replaced by panic. I crossed my arms and tilted my head as I looked at her. Lucas had always told me I was too tall—not quite his preferred type. Looks like he'd finally found himself a petite little lover.

To cure my husband Samuel Harding's condition, I chose to major in urology, specifically male urology, when deciding on my field of study in college. After graduating, I became an andrologist. Yet, even after successfully treating Samuel, he wasn’t grateful. Instead, he secretly mocked me, calling me the ‘Master of Fixing Men’s Private Parts,’ and admitted that the thought of me made him feel sick. So, I calmly decided on divorce. However, on the eve of our divorce, he changed his mind.

Before my wife went into labor, a nurse handed me a stack of consent forms. Buried among them was an optional prenatal paternity screening offered through St. Briar Medical Center's new genetic-services program. I'd barely started signing when my mother-in-law, Margaret, charged at me and slapped me across the face. "You monster! My daughter is risking her life to give you a child, and you want a DNA test?" Before I could explain, the hospital-room door flew open. Vanessa pressed a pair of medical scissors against her neck, her eyes bloodshot. "Daniel, I've given you seven years of my life. You know who this baby's father is. Why would you humiliate me like this?" When I saw the thin line of blood on her throat, my heart broke, and I dropped to my knees. I tore up the testing form and ordered my attorney to draft an unconditional agreement transferring assets to the baby. To comfort her, I drove across Aldercrest searching for her favorite honey-lavender shortbread. But when I returned to the hospital room, I heard laughter inside. "Vanessa, thank God we reacted quickly. If he'd signed that testing form, everything would've been over." "Why worry? Daniel's an idiot. I only have to cry, and he believes me." Then a familiar male voice said, "Once the birth certificate gives the child the Raleigh name, everything Daniel owns will belong to the three of us." The words froze me outside the door. I turned away and called my attorney. "Cancel the agreement. Then hire an investigator and uncover everything." At the baby's welcome reception, I would personally present Vanessa with the gift she deserved.

Elena never imagined motherhood would come to her through quiet clinic visits and anonymous paperwork. With her dreams of family slipping away, she makes the brave choice to pursue insemination, determined to give her child the love she never had. She tells herself the donor is just a number, a faceless code meant to stay buried in medical files. But fate doesn’t follow the rules. When her path unexpectedly crosses with Dominic, a powerful and enigmatic man tied to the very secret she carries, sparks ignite in ways she cannot control. Drawn into his world of wealth, mystery, and magnetic intensity, Elena finds herself caught between the life she carefully planned and the dangerous pull of a man who could unravel it all. As truths begin to surface, Elena must protect not only her heart but the tiny life growing inside her. Because some secrets can bind two souls forever and others can destroy them completely. A story of love, betrayal, and destiny, His DNA, Her Secret will keep you turning the pages, thirsty for the next revelation.

It was no secret that Frank Leclerc, the gang leader, was severely allergic to women. I was the only exception, which was why I was his fiancée. Unfortunately, a university student whose life he had saved refused to believe his condition was real. She relentlessly stalked him and clung to him at every opportunity. After her 99th attempt to sneak into his bed, Frank ordered his men to abandon her on a nearby snow-capped mountain. That same day, an avalanche struck, and she was presumed buried beneath the snow and missing. The news drove Frank mad. He rushed to the mountain himself and disappeared while searching for her. Not long afterward, a video went viral online. It showed Frank and that woman locked in a passionate kiss at the mountain's summit. Overnight, I became a laughingstock and the butt of everyone's jokes. Well, his allergy finally caught up with him that night. Gravely ill and pale as death, he looked at me and whispered, "She just... wanted to bear a child... for herself. Don't trouble her..." I sneered. Why the hell should I care about whatever pathetic reason she had? He had made one very critical mistake. He believed I had no other option but to marry him. The truth was quite the opposite. He was the one who depended on me. Too bad for him. The moment he threw himself into that search party, I had already found myself a new beau.

To help my surgeon husband with his erectile dysfunction, I made an appointment with an expert six months in advance. But as the day approached, Isiah Coleman canceled it without explanation. Just as I was about to call him to demand answers, I spotted a post from his female friend on her social media. My usually stoic husband was beaming as he wrapped his arms around her. The caption read: [Only I can cure your illness.] What struck me, though, was the telltale bulge in his pants in the photo—a reaction I'd never seen from him with me. With a cold laugh, I liked the post and left a comment: [What a miracle worker!] The post exploded, with everyone speculating whether I'd confront the mistress. But what awaited him after the holiday was our freshly printed divorce certificate.