“I’m sorry, Miss Moon, but the tests are conclusive. Your fertility is declining rapidly.” Dr. Warner’s voice was gentle, but her words hit me like a punch to the gut. “Based on these hormone levels, I estimate you have only one viable cycle left to conceive naturally.”
I stared at the chart she held, the colorful lines and numbers that somehow translated to my dreams crumbling before my eyes. One cycle. One chance left.
“There must be some mistake,” I whispered, my throat tight.
Dr. Warner shook her head, her eyes sympathetic behind rimless glasses. “I’ve run the tests twice. At twenty-eight, this is extremely premature ovarian failure, but it does happen. If motherhood is your goal, you need to act quickly.”
My hands trembled as I stuffed the paperwork into my purse. Every step down the sterile corridor of the clinic felt heavier than the last. Outside, autumn leaves swirled across the parking lot, dying just like my chances of ever having a baby.
Mark would be devastated. We’d been talking about starting a family for three years now. Always “next year” or “when the timing’s right.” Now, time had become my enemy.
I drove home in a daze, rehearsing how to tell my boyfriend the news. Maybe this was the push we needed. One last chance to create the family I’d always dreamed of.
The apartment was quiet when I unlocked the door. Mark’s car was in the lot, but he wasn’t in the living room or kitchen. I dropped my keys on the counter, noticing two wine glasses with lipstick stains – one definitely not mine.
My heart started pounding before my brain could fully process what I was seeing.
Then I heard it – a muffled laugh from our bedroom. A woman’s laugh.
I moved toward our bedroom door on unsteady legs, each step bringing new clarity. The door wasn’t fully closed. Through the gap, I saw them.
Mark, my boyfriend of five years, tangled in our sheets with Jenna, my best friend since college.
I froze, unable to breathe, to think, to move. My hand flew to my mouth to stifle any sound that might escape.
“God, that was close,” Mark was saying, his fingers trailing down Jenna’s naked back. “She almost caught us last week.”
Jenna giggled. “Poor, clueless Seraphina. Always so trusting.”
“She’s at the doctor again. More fertility tests.” He rolled his eyes. “Like that’s going to change anything.”
My blood turned to ice. What did he mean by that?
“Does she still not suspect anything?” Jenna asked, reaching for her wine glass on the nightstand – my nightstand.
“Nope. She has no idea I’ve been crushing those Plan B pills into her morning smoothie for years.” Mark’s casual tone carried no remorse, only smug satisfaction. “Every time she mentions babies, I want to gag. Can you imagine Seraphina as a mother?”
Jenna’s laughter cut through me like shards of glass. “God no. She’s so desperate for a family it’s pathetic. All those children’s books she collects? And that nursery mood board on her phone? I had to bite my tongue so many times.”
“She’d be a terrible mother anyway,” Mark continued. “Too emotional, too needy. And those stretch marks would be the final nail in the coffin of our sex life.”
They laughed together, the sound burning into my memory, as his hands found her breasts. My best friend and my boyfriend – both betraying me in the cruelest way imaginable.
I backed away silently, rage building inside me like a gathering storm. The bastard had been secretly sterilizing me. For years. While I blamed myself, cried myself to sleep, wondered what was wrong with my body.
My gaze landed on the smoke detector in the hallway. Before I could think twice, I reached up and pressed the test button. The piercing alarm shrieked throughout the apartment.
I rushed to the kitchen, making noise opening and closing cabinets. When they stumbled out of the bedroom – Mark hastily pulling on sweatpants, Jenna wrapped in my robe – I was fanning a dish towel at the smoke detector.
“Sorry!” I called over the noise. “Burned my toast! Can’t seem to shut this thing off!”
The panic and guilt on their faces was almost worth the pain tearing through my chest.
Mark finally silenced the alarm while Jenna stood awkwardly by the bedroom door, her hair a tangled mess, wearing my favorite robe.
“Sera! I didn’t know you’d be home so early,” Mark stammered. “Jenna just stopped by to… to borrow that book on marketing.”
“Marketing. Right.” I smiled, almost enjoying their discomfort. “How thoughtful of you to entertain her in our bed while she waited.”
Their faces drained of color simultaneously.
“Sera—” Jenna began.
I held up my hand. “Don’t bother.” I looked directly at Mark. “By the way, I’m infertile now. But I guess you already knew that would happen, didn’t you? Since you’ve been secretly poisoning me with Plan B for years.”
Mark’s jaw dropped. “You heard—”
“Every word.” I grabbed my purse. “I’ll be back for my things later. And Jenna? Keep the robe. It’s contaminated now anyway.”
I walked out, slamming the door behind me, my mind already racing ahead. I had one cycle left. One chance to become a mother. And I wasn’t going to waste it on revenge.
Twenty minutes later, I pulled into the staff parking lot of Silverleaf Fertility Clinic. My hands were still shaking when I texted Lyra, my surrogate sister from our days in the orphanage together.
Lyra appeared at the staff entrance minutes later, her white coat fluttering in the breeze. One look at my face and her expression darkened.
“What happened?” she demanded, pulling me into a hug.
The entire story spilled out between sobs – the diagnosis, Mark’s betrayal, the Plan B pills, everything. By the time I finished, Lyra was cursing fluently in three languages, her brown eyes blazing.
“That absolute monster,” she seethed. “I’ll report him. That’s medical assault.”
“Later,” I said, wiping my eyes. “Right now, I need your help. It’s my last chance, Ly.”
Understanding dawned on her face. “The sperm bank.”
I nodded. “I want a baby. My baby. No more waiting for some man to decide I’m worthy of motherhood.”
She squeezed my hand. “Come inside. We just got a new batch of donors. Some exceptional candidates.” She lowered her voice as we walked through the back corridors. “Even Kaelen Thorne uses our bank.”
“The billionaire?” I asked, distracted by the sterile hallways.
“The very same. His sample is supposedly for his future chosen mate, but who knows with these rich types?” Lyra swiped her keycard at a secure door. “Now let’s find you the perfect donor.”
Hours later, I lay on an examination table, staring at the ceiling as Lyra performed the intrauterine insemination procedure. My mind raced with possibilities. In ten days, I’d know if today changed my life forever.
“There,” Lyra said, patting my knee. “Now we wait and hope.”
I smiled, a fragile spark of hope igniting in my chest for the first time that day. Ten days. Ten days of hoping, dreaming, praying.
If only I’d known that by the time those ten days were up, my future would no longer belong to me – but to Kaelen Thorne himself.