Chapter 40
FORTY
Dawn stood barefoot on cool tile in the washroom, wearing a robe, a towel wrapped loosely around her damp hair. It was a muted morning with soft amber light leaking through linen curtains. The faucet was dripping again. Another thing she needed to fix.
There were many things that needed fixing.
Her company was sinking. And her body was betraying her.
It wasn’t until the diagnosis that Dawn understood the distinction between her body and mind.
All her life, she had prided herself on her efficiency and performance.
Sharp as a tick. Her entire being working in coordination.
Ever since she’d found out just how sick she was, she had grown detached from her body. But what about her mind? Where would she go after she died?
She moved slowly, methodically, brushing moisturizer across her cheek with one hand, the other reaching up into the mirrored cabinet above the sink.
The pill bottle was where it always is. Tucked behind a half-empty bottle of mouthwash and a travel-size sunscreen she rarely used, living in a town under a constant cover of clouds. She pulled out the bottle and twisted the cap open, shaking out two small pills into the palm of her hand.
The routine was built into her. She froze.
The pills were the same color. The same shape. But there was a slight chip on the edge of one of them—a little crescent bite that wasn’t there yesterday. And the other? The coating looked dull… Maybe it was the light.
Dawn tilted her hand. The pills rolled slightly on her palm. She set them down on the counter.
Doubt brewed inside her mind, curling in the corner of her thoughts and shaking her confidence. Something felt wrong.
She reached for the bottle again and peered inside.
Maybe she was just being paranoid after all the stress at work. She was seeing the worst in everything. But still she decided to count them.
Sixteen.
She did the math in her head. She should have seventeen. Or was it fifteen? She hesitated, her fingers tightening around the bottle. A week ago, she’d skipped a dose. She was working late, had a headache, and fell asleep early. Or was that two weeks ago?
“Damn it,” she muttered, frustrated. She didn’t like uncertainty.
She picked up the chipped pill again and turned it over. It could’ve broken in the bottle. That happened. Except the cut was too clean. It wasn’t jagged like she’d expected it to be. She held it to her nose and took a whiff. It smelled less metallic than the other ones.
She put it back down and her heart picked up rhythm. Frantically, she checked her cabinet again and the label. Name, dosage, instructions. Everything looked fine. And she didn’t have any other pills. But this pill was different. She was sure of it. But where did it come from?
And what if she’d consumed the wrong one before?
The staff would have no reason to do this—would they? Dawn was a powerful woman with enemies. But how many enemies had access to her washroom?
Her eyes flicked to the mirror again. And she glanced out the half-open window beside the sink.
David was in the backyard, trimming the rosemary bush near the fence. A random hobby he had picked up in recent years. He wore a linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his fingers deftly plucking dead leaves. A watering can sat nearby. He hummed softly to himself. Something tuneless, low.
Dawn watched him for a long while. Could it be possible?
She felt guilty for even thinking it. David was her son.
As much as he resented her for their differences, he wouldn’t stoop this low.
Except he could have. She knew how she’d punished David every single day since his negligence that night of the fire.
Much more recently, she had blocked his attempt to get on the board, even though he’d had some support.
She turned away from the window.
The pills were still on the counter. Her mind jumped back to two weeks ago.
The night she woke up in a fog. Her mouth dry, heart thudding in her chest. She’d chalked it up to one of the symptoms, even though it was relatively a new symptom and not something she had expected.
But her medication was strong and everyone responded differently.
But then last week, David had offered to refill her prescription for her.
The memory settled in her stomach like a stone.
The truth was that Lisa was out of her depth. She had never dreamed big or complicated. She had been raised by a teacher and a storeowner, graduated with average grades, and enrolled into the academy. It was supposed to be a simple, uneventful life in this simple and uneventful Washington county.
Nothing bad happened here. A couple of overdoses and a hiking accident here and there.
But now Lisa was dealing with a missing woman who was very likely being tortured.
She went over everything she was supposed to do—conduct search parties, recruit volunteers, follow up on tips from the hotline that had been set up.
Her phone buzzed against the kitchen counter. She glanced over from where she was rinsing a glass in the sink. The caller ID read: Dr. Khalid—OB/GYN . A moment of hesitation. She hadn’t thought about this at all for a while. It felt like a lifetime ago.
“Hello.”
“Hi, Lisa. It’s Dr. Khalid. I just wanted to follow up with you after your last check-in.”
Lisa’s stomach tightened. She knew what was coming before the words landed. “I’m really sorry, but your HCG levels came back negative. The embryo didn’t implant this cycle.”
A pause. Did she even care anymore? Jim never did. And she had been too blinded by the idea of a baby to see that her husband had been flirting with women online.
“I see,” she said softly. Her head was already hurting.
“I know how hard you’ve worked for this,” the doctor continued gently. “I want to reassure you that it doesn’t mean we’re out of options. It’s just one outcome, and it’s more common than most people realize.”
Lisa leaned against the counter, rubbing her temple. “What… what happens next?”
“Well,” Dr. Khalid replied, her tone shifting.
“We have a few directions we can go in. If you want to try another round, we could adjust the hormone protocol slightly. Sometimes a different stimulation can improve egg quality or increase retrieval numbers. That’s an option.
We could also talk about doing a freeze-all cycle.
Retrieve and freeze the embryos, then transfer to a separate, more controlled cycle.
Or even preimplantation genetic testing if you’re open to it—just to give us more information on embryo quality. ”
“Right,” Lisa murmured, though the words barely made it through the fog forming in her mind. It was all so dizzying.
“There’s also the option to pause. Let your body reset. Take a cycle off. Emotionally and physically, that can be important too. You could try naturally for a while again to give yourself a break.”
Dr. Khalid paused, her voice softening. “But this is your timeline, Lisa. We’ll go at your pace. I’m here whenever you’re ready to talk more.”
“Thanks,” she whispered. “I’ll… think about it.”
“Of course. Take care of yourself.”
The call ended with a soft beep. Lisa stood motionless in the kitchen, staring at the darkened screen, the doctor’s words still floating in her mind like faint echoes. She didn’t realize her hand was trembling until she set the phone down and saw it shaking.
Suddenly, her life didn’t seem like hers anymore.
Everything was drastically different from two weeks ago.
She wandered to the bedroom in a daze. The air felt thick and soupy.
Her bones grew heavy as she plopped on the bed and slid under the duvet.
But her eyes stayed open as she stared into the darkness.
She didn’t know how much time had passed when the door creaked open. It must be Jim. The fabric rustled as he undressed. The bed shifted as he lay down beside her. He reached out, his hand just grazing behind her back for a second too long. Then he withdrew it.
Lisa forced her breathing to be slow and rhythmic. Pretending to be asleep was easier than trying to deal with him. It was their new routine that they had fallen into. He would try to talk to her and she would pretend to be asleep. It was easier than looking at his face.
But not tonight.
Something came over her. A fire. A need to assert. She rolled over to him.
“Lisa, I—” She swallowed his words with a furious kiss. He protested, mumbling something against her mouth but she didn’t stop. She kept the pressure and slid her hand down. He wrapped his hand around her wrist and forcefully pushed her away. “What are you doing?”
In the dark, she could barely make out the silhouette of his face.
Instead she kissed him again, this time more aggressively, letting him know what she wanted.
Finally, with a groan he gave in and responded, molding his body into hers.
Her skin burned not with passion but with the memories of his betrayal.
She didn’t want to talk to him. She didn’t care to. She didn’t care about anything anymore.