Page 81 of Force At Third

“Yeah.”

“We heard things went well. Rest, and you’ll make a full recovery.” He sits on the bed at my feet.

“I’ll be fine.” I clear my throat. “What you heard earlier?—”

“We don’t have to talk about that right now, okay?” He grips my ankle, gently squeezing it.

“No one knows. I don’t want anyone to know. Mom doesn’t?—”

“Gwendolyn, I’d never.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he repeats.

“I need you to understand that my body can’t stay pregnant. So, this, it’s going to end, too.”

“I think you should let Dr. Chang explain what she’s found,” Dromida says calmly.

“Let’s listen to the doctor,” Leland says, looking at her, hopeful.

I hate it. I hate this. And I hate them for letting him have hope.

“Do not lie to him. Tell him the truth,” I demand, or at least I hope it came out that way. I’m so fucking tired.

“The truth is that whoever took care of you all those years ago did a shit job,” Dr. Chang states firmly. “I’m assuming, when you miscarried, they performed a DNC, which would only be necessary if everything hadn’t passed naturally. Am I right?”

I close my eyes so I don’t have to look at him, them, as I nod.

“Real talk. They did a shit job. You have scarring on your cervix, which tells me they either nicked or sliced it. Your right ovary was also damaged. You have a tipped uterus, which some are of the mindset that makes it more difficult to get pregnant, but that’s not true. Right now, your biggest worry is stress. Stress is not good for you or your baby. Later in your pregnancy, I would want to watch you closer, so more frequent visits to check that your cervix isn’t weakened. And if I could, I would tell you that I don’t want you seeing another doctor. However, if you do, I’d like your permission to consult with them.”

“I don’t want to do this again. I don’t want to?—”

“That’s your choice completely, but if you’re making them based on what some hack told you, I’m standing here, the best OBGYN on the East Coast, telling you they were wrong.”

“I’m so tired.”

“Of course you are.” Leland’s voice is so filled with emotions that it’s painful to hear. “Rest, Gwendolyn. You don’t have to make any choices right now. All you need to do is rest.”

“You can’t tell them. I don’t want anyone outside of this room knowing either way. I am not weak, or broken, or dead, or?—”

“Gwen,” Leland starts.

“No. Not another word.”

“Okay.”

“I … I don’t want anyone to know. I don’t want …”

He moves up to sit beside me, wipes weak and worthless tears from my face, and pulls my head to his chest. Emotions rip through him as he quietly pleads, “Sleep, Gwen, please go to sleep.”

“Mmm ’kay.”

***

When I wake, less groggy, my head still to Leland’s chest, his arm wrapped around me tight, I’m in a private room, and we’re not alone. Whit and Pope are both asleep, her on his lap at the end of my bed in a not-so-comfortable-looking chair.

What the fuck? I think.

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