Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The day was cool and clear, a perfect day for walking, Lottie thought as she headed to the clinic. Two blocks from work she came up short when a woman stepped in front of her.
She recognized her and knew this was probably going to be a short conversation. Her heart pounded in her throat as Lottie stared at Shannon. What really scared her was that the woman had disappeared right after Razor got the test results.
She knew from Razor that Shannon was not carrying his child, she wasn’t expecting a baby at all. It was a Pseudocyesis pregnancy.
“Hello,” Shannon said, smiling at Lottie.
“Good morning.”
Lottie watched Shannon rub a hand over her stomach. “How are you feeling these days, Shannon.” She saw the way the woman narrowed her stare.
Shannon continued rubbing a hand over her stomach. “I wanted to make sure you were okay at hearing the news.”
“What news would that be?” Lottie asked Shannon.
“That me and Merritt are getting married… and we’re having a baby.”
“I didn’t know that.” Lottie gave her a bright smile. “I wish you both all the best.”
Excusing herself she moved past Shannon.
Lottie kept her pace brisk as she rounded the corner and approached the clinic.
She could feel the pulse of her heartbeat quicken, but she wasn’t sure if it was from the unexpected encounter with Shannon or the fact that she had just lied so effortlessly.
Her own smile had been a carefully crafted mask, one that hid the flash of anger that had surged in her chest when Shannon had mentioned Razor.
“Getting married… and we’re having a baby.”
The words echoed in Lottie’s head, mixing with the sick feeling that had gnawed at her since she first learned about Shannon’s condition.
Pseudocyesis. It wasn’t a real pregnancy, but to Shannon, it felt every bit as real as the weight of a baby growing inside her.
How could she just stand there and lie so smoothly, making Lottie believe she had a future with Razor when she knew the truth?
But Lottie also knew that Shannon was playing a dangerous game. And worried more every day that it was her that caused the motorcycle accident.
Lottie shook her head as she stepped through the clinic’s door, pushing away the thoughts that threatened to crowd her mind. Focus, she reminded herself.
Inside, the quiet hum of the clinic enveloped her, grounding her as she moved past the front desk and into the back hallway. There was comfort in the familiar scent of antiseptic and the soft shuffle of nurses’ shoes on linoleum. It was a sanctuary of sorts, where everything made sense.
But for just a moment, before she pushed it all aside, the memory of Shannon’s voice, smug and sweet as honey, stayed with her. “I wanted to make sure you were okay at hearing the news.”
Shaking her head, Lottie felt bad for the woman, from a nurse’s perspective, it was heartbreaking.
Lottie had seen this before…patients who convinced themselves of things that weren’t real, their minds wrapped in delusions that became as tangible to them as any physical ailment.
Pseudocyesis, though rare, wasn’t uncommon in the world Lottie worked in.
The psychological toll could be as devastating as any physical disease, and it was hard to watch someone suffer from it.
But Shannon’s case, with all its complexity, felt different.
Lottie understood the layers of need—emotional, psychological, maybe even a bit of a desperate desire to be needed or wanted.
It wasn’t just the pregnancy that Shannon clung to; it was the idea of being seen, of having Merritt’s love and devotion.
And who could blame her for wanting that, especially if she felt her world slipping through her fingers?
But that didn’t make it any easier to swallow.
Shannon wasn’t just sick in the way someone with a physical ailment might be.
She was tangled in a web of her own making.
Lottie could see the way it was starting to consume her, making Shannon fragile in ways that only someone like Lottie, who had seen people break down in front of her, could truly understand.
It must be exhausting, living in a world of half-truths. But Lottie couldn’t force herself to feel pity. Turning around she slammed into Razor. She felt his strong hands grip her biceps, steading her as she stepped back. “Lottie?”
“I ran into her on my way here,” she said in a rush.
“Who?”
“Shannon. She’s believes you’re getting married and that she’s still having your baby.”
Razor pulled Lottie into his arms, running a hand over her back as he tried to remain calm. “We’re going to have to file a police report. I’m concerned she’s going to do something to hurt you.”
“What about you? You’re the focus of her attention,” Lottie asked him, more concerned for Razor than for herself.
“I can take care of myself.” He kept her in his arms. tight, “I’m more worried about her coming after you. We still don’t know who caused the accident.”
The last thing Lottie wanted was to put more worry on Razor, but she was worried about the same thing. “Maybe we should…”
“Don’t say take a break. I don’t wanna hear those words fall from your lips.”
“I was going to say, maybe I should pack a bag and come back to your place.”
Kissing Lottie quickly, he pulled out his phone and called Vicious. He needed to have someone take Lottie home. Before he could make the call, she shut him down.
“I’m not going home where all I have to do is sit and worry,” she told him.
“Alright. Nurse McDaniels, we have patients to see,” he told her, pointing her towards a patient’s room. If she was staying, they had work to do, the busier Lottie.
was the less she could think about Shannon.
The fact that Shannon was still delusional about being pregnant worried him. And worried him in a big way.
* * *
Lottie couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling Shannon left behind, even as she tried to focus on the tasks at hand.
The clinic was her sanctuary, a place where problems had answers, where wounds could be stitched, infections treated, and diagnoses delivered with precision.
It was the one part of her life that made sense—a stark contrast to the chaos Shannon had brought into her world.
She moved methodically, checking the patient chart in her hands and trying to ignore the flicker of irritation creeping up her spine. Shannon. The name alone made Lottie’s chest tighten, not with fear, but with a heavy blend of anger and pity.
In another life, Lottie might have felt more sympathy for her.
After all, wasn’t Shannon just another person crying out for help in her own twisted way?
The symptoms of pseudocyesis weren’t something a person could fake entirely, not when the body itself responded to the mind’s desperate belief in a pregnancy.
She’d read about cases where women’s stomachs swelled, their menstrual cycles stopped, and even their breasts produced milk. Shannon might not have chosen this path consciously, but she was walking it now, and she seemed determined to drag everyone around her into the delusion.
Lottie sighed as she stepped into the supply room to grab fresh gloves. Part of her hated herself for the way her feelings toward Shannon had shifted. There was a time when Lottie’s compassion would have been the dominant force, urging her to see Shannon as a patient in need of care.
But with Razor in the picture, it was harder to maintain that professional distance. Shannon wasn’t just a woman suffering from a psychological condition; she was a threat. To Lottie. To Razor. To whatever fragile happiness they were building together.
Her thoughts drifted back to the conversation on the street.
The smugness in Shannon’s voice had been unmistakable, a needle hidden beneath layers of saccharine sweetness.
“I wanted to make sure you were okay at hearing the news.” As if she were some benevolent queen bestowing mercy upon her lowly subject.
The audacity of it made Lottie’s temper burn.
And yet, underneath the anger, there was something else—something darker. A whisper of doubt. What if Shannon’s delusion wasn’t as harmless as it seemed? What if she was willing to go further than anyone expected to make her fantasy a reality?
Lottie had seen it before, in different forms. Patients who clung so fiercely to their version of the truth that they couldn’t bear the thought of letting it go.
There was the man who insisted he was perfectly healthy, even as his body betrayed him with symptoms of advanced cancer.
Or the young girl who swore she hadn’t taken the pills, even as her bloodwork painted a different story.
Denial could be a powerful force, capable of warping reality in ways that left everyone around it gasping for air.
But Shannon’s case was different. It wasn’t just her mind and body at stake—it was Lottie’s life, her relationship, her sense of safety.
And that realization sent a ripple of guilt through her chest. Was it wrong to think of herself in this?
To want Shannon gone, not just for her own peace of mind, but because she didn’t have the energy to play nursemaid to someone who seemed determined to destroy her.
The sound of Razor’s voice startled her out of her thoughts, his presence steady and grounding. She glanced up to find him watching her with concern, his brow furrowed as if he could see the storm raging behind her eyes.
“You, okay?” he asked, his voice low.
Lottie forced a smile, nodding. “Yeah. Just... a lot on my mind.”
“Shannon?” he guessed, his tone sharper now.
“Yeah,” she admitted. “I can’t stop thinking about her. About what she said. And what she might do.”
Razor stepped closer, his hand brushing hers in a quiet gesture of reassurance. “We’ll figure it out,” he promised. “I won’t let her hurt you.”
The words were comforting, but Lottie couldn’t help the flicker of doubt that remained. Shannon wasn’t just a problem to be solved or a threat to be neutralized. She was a person, a broken, complicated, and dangerous person. And that made everything so much harder.
As Razor moved away to check on a patient, Lottie stood there for a moment longer, letting the weight of her thoughts settle over her like a heavy cloak. She knew she couldn’t afford to let Shannon consume her, but it was hard not to feel the edges of her life closing in.
Taking a deep breath, she pushed herself back into motion.
There were patients to see, tasks to complete, and a world that still made sense, at least within the walls of the clinic.
Tonight she’d pack a bag and go back to Razor’s.
And hope that Sherlock with his skills would find Shannon and stop her before she did something they’d all regret.