Adrian had almost no chance of fathering a child naturally.Not low fertility.
Not reduced fertility.
Almost none.
He had refused to hear the rest.
He walked out of the clinic before the consultation ended.
In the parking lot, he told me never to mention it again.
He blamed stress.
He blamed the lab.
He blamed the doctor.
Then he blamed me for scheduling the appointment.
I had kept quiet because I loved him.
That was another mistake.
The car entered downtown Charlotte.
My phone vibrated constantly.
I finally switched it to silent.
I was not going to answer Adrian yet.
The medical report was only the first thing he needed to understand.
The rest was waiting for him at Whitmore Meridian.
I checked into a hotel under my maiden name.
The suite was modest by Whitmore standards.
That felt good.
I put my suitcase on the bed.
Then I removed the encrypted drive.
Inside were three months of records.
Corporate card statements.
Wire transfers.
Invoices.
Emails.
Building access logs.
Penthouse lease documents.
Bianca’s medical expenses.
Luxury nursery furniture.
Private car services.
