Page 65 of Prognosis So Done

Harriet had told him to leave her alone. Don’t touch me ever again. But he knew he just wasn’t capable of that. Even if they never conceived and were never blessed with a baby, he didn’t want to be apart from her ever again.

Ever!

They had spent one year apart and it had been hell. He wanted to live with her and their children and grow old together. Nothing had ever been clearer.

Not even the moment he’d realised he’d fallen in love with her and wanted to marry her. That had been natural, something where no thought had been required — just human love and lust and emotion. But deciding to stay together, have a baby

together, was clear thinking at its best.

Gill rose from the bed empowered by his decision. He wouldn’t leave without her. The chopper would be landing soon, signalling the end of their time here so he had less than thirty minutes to convince her the child he’d always rejected was now something he couldn’t live without.

The divorce papers burnt a hole in his hand as he swiftly navigated the corridors, his big strides purposeful and determined. She was mad but he would make her see reason. He had to because he didn’t know what he’d do without her.

Megan looked startled as he strode into the room but he

ignored her. He had eyes only for Harriet’s slight form in the

bed, her back to him. She was post-op and he should let her rest and recover her strength – he knew that. But there was no time for being delicate or gentle.

There was too much at stake.

He noisily plonked himself in the chair beside her bed and was gratified when she fluttered her eyes open. His gaze caught the specimen jar on the nearby table. Her excised tube lying limply at the bottom in all its garishness.

He picked it up and said, ‘So, you know.’

‘Yes.’ Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat, wincing as she swallowed.

Gill almost sagged in relief. He knew the rational, experienced theatre nurse in Harriet couldn’t look at the specimen and still blame him but that was not who was lying in the bed right now.

‘I’m sorry, Gill,’ she said in a hoarse whisper. ‘I was angry. It’s obvious nothing could be done.’

Sudden and unexpected tears pricked the backs of Gill’s eyes and he blinked. She sounded so sad and defeated. The righteousness he felt at her admission tempered by her frank sadness. Her eyes were red-rimmed accentuated by her pallor, as if she’d cried herself to sleep, and she looked as if there was no puff left in her sails.

So different to the live, vibrant Harry he’d met and married seven years ago. Or even the one he had made wild, noisy love to the previous morning.

He shrugged. ‘You were angry,’ he said gently as he took her hand.

She shook her head. ‘I should have known. I know you. I

know you would have tried your best. You are a brilliant surgeon, Guillaume Remy. Don’t let anyone ever tell you anything different.’

Gill’s heart swelled with love and pride at the humility of the woman he loved. But the finality of her words were worrying.

He stared at her beautiful face for a few moments. ‘I have something for you,’ he said.

‘Oh, yeah.’ She smiled lightly. ‘The last time someone said that they handed me a grotesque specimen jar.’

He held the divorce papers up, grasped them by the top edge in the middle and slowly ripped them in two. Then in four. Then in eight. And continued until they were almost confetti-sized. Then he threw them in the air and they fluttered down around their heads and on the bed and to the floor.

‘No, Gill,’ she said in horror, as she watched the

pieces fall. ‘No.’

‘Yes, Harry. Yes.’

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Harriet blinked. Great! Now she was going to have to get new ones drawn up! She glared at him as the last bit fell in his hair. ‘That was a legal document.’

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