Guess Who Failed the Test
After I landed in the hospital—again—from working myself into the ground, Jacob swore he was done playing house stockbroker.
"Starting tomorrow, I'll do anything. Haul bricks, deliver pizza, whatever. I'm not letting you carry this alone."
His eyes were glassy as he stormed out of the exam room like he was about to save the day or something.
Then the doctor walked in and handed me a report.
I was pregnant. Again.
Heart racing, I chased after Jacob... and froze.
He was standing outside some super VIP room. The same guys who used to bang on our door for money were suddenly all respectful.
"Mr. Klein, should we block her door again tomorrow?"
Jacob twirled our engagement ring around his finger. "No need. She already lost one baby paying off those debts. The test's over. Time she knew who I really am."
Then my best friend—Lillian Morvain—strolled out and wrapped her arms around his waist like she belonged there.
"Jacob, don't go soft. Your tests usually last at least five years. What if she's just another gold digger? Plus... I'd miss you."
He hesitated. Smirked. "Fine. We'll do it your way. She's not going anywhere anyway."
I stood there, clutching my stomach, sliding down the wall like the air had been punched out of me.
Later, I pushed open the office door.
"Dr. Spencer, I need a termination. Three days from now."