Chapter 9 #2
I give a halfhearted shrug. “I don’t know the difference anymore. He’s nothing like anyone I’ve ever known. When I’m with him, I feel powerful, protected, and completely out of control all at once.”
She studies my face like I’m speaking a foreign language she’s trying to decipher. “That sounds like obsession.”
“Maybe, or maybe it’s what love feels like when it’s not safe or simple or convenient.”
“What does he make you feel about yourself?”
The question catches me in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“When you’re with him, do you feel like yourself? Or do you feel like someone else entirely?”
I consider the question for a long second. “Both. He sees parts of me I didn’t know existed. He also makes me want to be braver than I’ve ever been.”
She reaches for her purse with decisive movement. “Braver, or more reckless?”
“Is there a difference when it comes to love?”
She sighs, clearly unconvinced by my logic. “We’re going to the clinic. You need medical confirmation, and I need you to promise me something.”
“What?”
Her voice carries friendship and concern. “Promise me you’ll tell him about the pregnancy. Whatever his reaction, and whatever complications it creates, he deserves to know.”
The thought of that conversation makes my stomach clench with anxiety that has nothing to do with morning sickness. “What if telling him changes everything between us?”
She shakes her head. “Everything’s already changing. The question is whether you’ll have some control over how it changes or if you’ll just let it happen to you.”
Thirty minutes later, we’re driving through Charleston’s medical district in Harper’s ancient Honda, windows down to combat the nausea that seems to worsen in confined spaces.
The afternoon air carries hints of salt and magnolia, which are familiar scents that usually comfort me but now seem cloying and overwhelming.
She glances at me while we wait at a red light. “Tell me about the other two times. With Iskander.”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “Do we have to discuss my sex life right now?”
“We have to discuss everything right now. You’re potentially carrying this man’s child, and I know almost nothing about your relationship with him.”
The clinical assessment bites, but she’s right.
I’ve been compartmentalizing my feelings for Iskander, keeping them separate from the practical realities of my life in ways that no longer seem sustainable.
“The second time was about three weeks ago. We’d had dinner, and I went back to his place for coffee.
” The memory makes heat pool low in my belly despite everything.
“We ended up in his bedroom, and it was...intense.”
“Intense how?”
I study my hands, noting how they shake slightly at the memory. “Passionate. Consuming. Like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. He makes me feel things I didn’t know were possible.”
“And the third time?”
I take a shaky breath. “Last week in his office again, after a business meeting that turned into something else entirely. Harper, when he touches me, I lose all rational thought. It’s like my body belongs to him more than it belongs to me.”
She glances at me with concern evident in her profile. “That doesn’t sound healthy.”
I feel defensive though I understand she can’t relate, never having experienced anything like this before. “It doesn’t feel unhealthy when it’s happening. It feels like coming alive for the first time.”
She frowns heavily. “What about between these encounters? What’s the relationship like?”
I watch Charleston’s familiar streets pass by the window.
“Careful and deliberate, like we’re both trying to figure out what we’re building without scaring away the other person.
He brings me coffee in the mornings sometimes.
We have lunch when his schedule allows. Whenever we’re together, he really listens to me regardless what we’re discussing.
It’s different than with any man I’ve dated before. ”
That seems to earn him a grudging point, and her frown eases slightly. “Does he talk about his life? His work?”
“Some. He’s cautious about details, but he’s been more open lately. I think he’s trying to earn my trust.”
Her next question requires honesty I’m not sure I’m ready to face. “Is it working?”
“Yes. It terrifies me, because trusting him means accepting things about his world that I’m not sure I can live with.” I clench my hands in my lap. “Yet not trusting him feels like losing out on something rare and precious.”
The urgency care clinic appears ahead of us, a modest building with the neutral architecture. My stomach lurches with fresh anxiety as Harper parks, and I wonder if this is what courage feels like, moving forward despite being terrified of what you might discover.
She turns off the engine and looks at me. “Ready?”
I shake my head honestly. “No, but let’s do it anyway.”
The waiting room is exactly what I expected, with neutral colors, outdated magazines, and the particular hush that comes with medical spaces.
I fill out forms with trembling hands while Harper sits beside me, radiating protective energy that reminds me why our friendship has survived everything life has thrown at us.
A nurse in cheerful scrubs calls my name after what feels like hours but is probably only twenty minutes. “Willa Reynolds?”
The examination room is small and sterile, smelling of antiseptic and latex gloves. I change into the provided gown while Harper waits outside, my hands shaking as I try to process what’s about to be confirmed.
Dr. Morrison, a woman in her fifties with soft eyes and gentle hands, joins me a few minutes later. She asks questions about my symptoms while drawing blood for testing.
Once finished, she sits back in her chair after completing the physical exam. “Based on what you’ve told me about your cycle and symptoms, I’d say pregnancy is very likely, but we’ll need the blood work to confirm and establish how far along you might be.”
That sounds so certain, making me unsure if I’d prefer not to know, but that opportunity has passed. “How long for results?”
“About thirty minutes for a qualitative test, which will tell you yes or no. We’ll send off a sample for hCG results to make sure the levels are where they should be as well, which will take two or three days. You can wait here or in the main waiting room for today’s results.”
I choose the waiting room, settling into the uncomfortable chair beside hers while my mind races through possibilities I didn’t imagine I’d have to consider. Thirty minutes feels like an eternity when waiting for news that could reshape my entire existence.
Harper reaches over and squeezes my hand. “Whatever the results, we’ll figure it out. I’m here for you.”
I bite my lower lip, finally asking softly, “What if I’m not strong enough to handle a baby and everything else that’s happening?”
Her voice carries the confidence of someone who’s seen me survive impossible things. “Impossible. You survived foster care, built a career, inherited a business, and you’re navigating a relationship with a dangerous man. If you can handle all that, you can handle parenthood.”
The logic is sound, but logic feels inadequate when faced with the magnitude of potential change. A baby would be innocent, vulnerable, and dependent on decisions I make. I’m smart, but I can’t see into the future.
Dr. Morrison appears in the waiting room doorway, holding a manila folder that contains my immediate future. “Willa Reynolds?”
I nod to Harper to come along this time, so we follow her back to an office, where she closes the door and settles behind her desk.
Her voice is warm but professional. “The test is positive. You’re pregnant, probably about eight to ten weeks based on when you remember having your last period.
The quantitative results will give us a better idea of viability, but there’s no reason to think you aren’t having a healthy pregnancy. ”
The confirmation hits differently than expected. It’s not shock, exactly, but a settling of certainty that makes everything else fall into sharp focus. Eight to ten weeks. Split the difference, and that dates back to my first encounter with Iskander.
Dr. Morrison studies my face with professional concern. “Are you all right?”
I reach for Harper’s hand, needing the anchor of her presence. “Yes, I think so. What happens now?”
“We can discuss your options, or I can refer you to a doctor or midwife for follow-up care if you choose to continue the pregnancy. There’s no rush to make any decisions today.”
I respond without hesitation. “I’m continuing the pregnancy. That’s not negotiable. I don’t really know how I want to see, so can you pick someone?”
She nods. “I’ll get a referral for you before you leave for a friend of mine.
Dr. Layton is an excellent obstetrician.
I’ll send your file ahead and ask her to see you within two weeks for a more comprehensive examination and to discuss prenatal care.
Do you have questions about the early stages of pregnancy? ”
The rest of the appointment passes in a blur of medical information. Harper takes notes while I try to process the reality of carrying Iskander’s child and building something new and fragile while surrounded by dangers I’m only beginning to understand.
We leave the clinic ten minutes later with a folder full of pamphlets and a business card for Dr. Layton, so I can call her to make an appointment. That makes everything official. The afternoon sun feels too bright and cheerful for the magnitude of what’s just been confirmed.
Harper pauses beside her car. “How are you feeling?”
“Terrified… Excited… Completely overwhelmed.” I stop suddenly, awareness prickling at the edge of my consciousness.
“Harper, wait.” Something feels wrong. It’s the same sensation I’ve been experiencing for weeks but more intense now.
I scan the parking lot with narrow eyes, looking for anything that seems out of place.
A man in a dark sedan three rows away appears to be reading a newspaper, but his position gives him a clear view of the clinic entrance. Another figure near the medical building’s side entrance seems to be talking on his phone, but his attention keeps drifting in our direction.
She follows my line of sight, tension creeping into her voice. “What’s wrong?”
“I think we’re being watched.” The words sound paranoid even to me, but the feeling is too strong to ignore. “ Do those men seem normal to you?”
She studies the parking lot with careful attention while trying to be discreet. “I don’t see anything obvious. Are you sure you’re not just feeling paranoid because of everything that’s happened?”
I watch for another minute, noting how both men maintain their positions while other people come and go.
The sensation of being observed feels physical, like pressure against my skin, but there’s nothing overtly off about their behavior or presence.
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m just being paranoid.
” I slide into the passenger seat, though unease continues to crawl up my spine. “Let’s go home.”
She gets behind the wheel to start the car and navigates toward the parking lot exit, but I can’t ignore the feeling that hostile gazes are tracking our movement. When I glance back through the rear window, both men have disappeared.
She sounds concerned when she notices my continued tension. “Willa? You look pale. Are you all right?”
I force myself to focus on the immediate future rather than imaginary threats. “I’m fine. I guess I’m just processing everything. We need to stop at the pharmacy for prenatal vitamins.”
“At some point soon, you need to call Iskander.”
The reminder makes my stomach clench with fresh anxiety.
This conversation will change everything between us, for better or worse.
Harper’s right that he deserves to know, and I deserve to see how he reacts to news that makes our careful courtship suddenly much more complicated.
I nod, already dreading and anticipating that conversation in equal measure. “I’ll call him.”
The drive home passes in somewhat comfortable silence.
By the time we reach my apartment, I’ve convinced myself the men in the parking lot weren’t threatening.
That was just my mind playing tricks. The alternative—that I’m being actively surveilled while pregnant with the child of a man whose enemies want to hurt him—is too terrifying to consider.
The future feels uncertain and dangerous but suddenly full of possibilities I never imagined. For the first time since Henri’s death, that prospect feels more exciting than terrifying.