Page 23 of Ivory Legacy

Chapter Eleven: Jade

No one had spotted me at St. Mary’s.

I’d gone back for another check-up and no one had spotted me then. I almost liked going into the city now, though of course I had to hope I wouldn’t run into Ellie, who I’d essentially ghosted, or Detective Rodriguez, who would probably be furious with what I had done.

But my life was now in Harbor Cove and while it had begun to feel a bit more like home, it turned out I didn’t necessarily…like it.

In my little studio apartment, the mirror didn’t care about the chaos of my life; it just reflected back the truth I was still grappling with. Four months along, and there was no denying the swell of my belly, a prominent testament to the tangle of love and danger I’d found myself in. I ran a hand over the curve, feeling the kickback of emotions—fear, wonder, and an odd sense of pride.

Dragging myself away from my reflection, I shuffled over to my desk cluttered with the remnants of a life that seemed like someone else’s now. Papers scrawled with genetic sequences and scribbled hypotheses lay abandoned, like dreams I couldn’t chase anymore. I sat down, the chair creaking under the shift in weight, and let out a sigh heavy enough to fog the glass of the cold winter window.

My fingers, once so steady in the lab, now trembled as they brushed over the unfinished journals—my research at BioHQ that had promised so much. I missed the sterile scent of the lab, the hum of machinery, the thrill of discovery. I massaged my temples, trying to ease the exhaustion that made my head feel like it was stuffed with cotton.

“Come on, Jade,” I muttered to myself, “You’ve cracked tougher codes than this.” But as I glanced around the silent apartment, with its shadows lurking in the corners untouched by the weak morning light, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this code might just be unbreakable.

I powered up my laptop, its low hum a stark reminder that the only company I kept these days were gadgets and ghosts of my former life. The screen blinked to life, scattering pale light across the papers littering my desk, illuminating the stark reality of my isolation in Harbor Cove’s frosty embrace.

“Okay, let’s find you something worthy of your brain,” I whispered, more to myself than anyone else, as I navigated to job boards tailored for the scientific community. My fingers danced over the keys, a ballet of desperation seeking opportunity.

The listings read like a who’s who of biotech’s finest institutions, but the subtext screamed no vacancy for expectant mothers. “Immediate start,” one demanded. “Must be willing to relocate immediately,” another insisted. With each scroll, my heart sank further into the pit of impracticality.

“Come on, Jade, think,” I urged myself, but the reflection in the mirror earlier wasn’t lying; my body was changing, and with it, my availability to the cutthroat world of research and discovery.

“Maybe there’s a remote position,” I mused half-heartedly, knowing full well the hands-on nature of my expertise didn’t lend itself to telecommuting. Only someone with Dante’s resources would have…no. Fuck it. I wasn’t going to think about Dante.

I was going to force myself not to think about Dante.

I couldn’t afford the luxury of surrender—not with a child on the way.

My inbox became a gallery of cover letters and resumes, each sent out like a paper boat on an uncertain sea. I typed furiously, my mind racing through potential interview questions, envisioning lab coats instead of maternity wear.

“Experience in genetic engineering,” I typed out, the words feeling hollow against the backdrop of my current predicament. “Expertise in bioinformatics,” I continued, my resolve waning with every character.

“Who am I kidding?” I said under my breath, the weight of reality pressing down on me. This exercise felt akin to sendingsignals into space, hoping for alien life to respond when all I needed was an earthly lifeline.

With a deep, steadying breath that did nothing to quell the storm inside, I stood up abruptly, pushing back from the desk. The chair rolled away, and I faced the room—my small, silent corner of the world where ambition met the unmovable force of circumstance.

***

The morning light spilled into my living room, a cruel reminder of the passage of time. I was anchored to the couch, its cushions holding the imprint of my restless nights and anxious days. The days I had shifts at the restaurant weren’t as bad, but these were brutal.

It felt like all I did was wait and think about Dante.

So instead, I focus on my job search.

Which was, of course, going absolutely nowhere.

My laptop screen glared back at me with the stark emptiness of an abandoned city—no new emails, no job offers, nothing but the quiet echo of hope fading away.

“Nothing,” I muttered, hitting refresh for what felt like the thousandth time that week. Each silent chime of failure chipped away at my resolve, leaving me to question the sanity of expecting different results from the same futile gesture.

“Look, kid,” I said suddenly, looking down at my swelling belly, “I don’t resent you, not one bit. But this...” My voice trailed off asI swept a hand across the expanse of my former life sprawled on the coffee table—scientific journals, BioHQ security passes, all relics of a time when my future seemed as boundless as the stars themselves. “...this just sucks.”

The apartment, once a sanctuary of solitude and scholarship, now felt like a cell. The walls seemed to inch closer each day, trapping me in a world where ambition collided with the hard truth of my circumstances. No amount of willpower or intellect could negotiate with biology; my body had become both a creator of life and an obstacle to living it.

“Your mom’s a fighter, though,” I continued, my tone softening, as if trying to impart some strength through the layers that separated us. “We’ll figure this out.” The conviction in my words was as thin as the winter sunlight filtering through the blinds, but it was all I had left to offer.

There was one option.

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