That worried me more than anything.
Kenneth Boyd never hesitated unless the truth needed careful handling.
“I received the final response from the private records request this morning,” he said.
Connor scoffed. “Private records? What records?”
Kenneth looked at him. “Records connected to the fertility clinic.”
The words moved through me like cold water.
For a moment, the hallway disappeared.
The walls. The nurses. The families. Connor’s smug face. Melinda’s trembling hands.
All I could see was a small exam room from years ago. A plastic chair. A box of tissues. Connor sitting beside me with his arms crossed while a specialist gently explained that our last attempt had failed.
Again.
I remembered apologizing.
That was the part that still made me ache. Not the injections, not the surgeries, not the hope that arrived every month dressed as fear.
