Page 3 of Ivory Legacy

I felt so bad for lying to this man, but I had no other choice. As he reached out to comfort me with a gentle pat on my arm, I grimaced as if the pain was worsening.

“What did you have?” I said between gritted teeth.

“What?”

“Your wife,” I panted, gripping the arm of the chair until my knuckles turned white. “Boy or girl?”

“Boy.” His voice wavered, caught between uncertainty and the instinctive need to reassure. “We had a boy.”

“I always wanted a boy,” I murmured, clutching my stomach tighter. “He wants a daughter, but...”

If I could keep him talking, if I could fool him here, in this cold, impersonal room, I might be able to fool anyone.

If I could keep him talking, if I could fool him here, in this cold, impersonal room, I might be able to fool anyone.

I nodded, wincing dramatically as I held onto my stomach. “Boy would be nice,” I muttered through gritted teeth. “What’s he like?”

“Ma’am, I think you should—“

“Just keep talking. It helps.”

“His name is Charlie,” Carter said.

“Charlie,” I gasped out, giving him a weak smile. “That’s a strong name. What’s he like?”

“He’s a handful, but he’s great,” Carter admitted, his eyes softening as he spoke about his son. “He’s got this laugh—sounds exactly like a duck quacking. First time I heard it, I thought we had a bird in the house.”

A genuine chuckle escaped me despite the situation, and I covered it up with another grimace of pain. “I’m sure he’s wonderful. You seem like...like you’d be a good father.”

“Oh, I’m okay. My wife is the real hero. She makes it look easy.”

“Tell me about her,” I asked, keeping my voice steady despite the anxiety gnawing at my insides. Why was the medical team taking so damn long?

And then, as the clamor of approaching footsteps echoed through the hallway, I knew it was game time. I couldn’t afford a single misstep—not now, not when freedom was within reach.

A swarm of medical personnel rushed into the room, their faces masks of solemn concentration under the harsh fluorescent lighting. One of them, a young nurse with a freckle-splattered face, took my pulse while another, significantly older and gruffer-looking, grabbed a blood pressure monitor from his bag.

The tightness of the cuff around my arm was uncomfortable, but I welcomed the physical sensation. It was grounding amidst the whirlwind of uncertainty. The gruff man watched the device intently before writing something on his clipboard.

“Blood pressure’s slightly elevated, but that could be due to stress,” he commented dryly, his voice carrying a hint of an Irish accent. “We need to get you to the clinic though—to check you over properly.”

“I don’t know if I’m allowed to leave…”

“You’re not being detained,” Carter said quickly. “You can leave now if you want to.”

Fuck, this poor, kind man. I really did feel bad for exploiting him.

“Don’t you have to go report this to the Detective?”

“Sure,” he said. “It can wait until you’re okay.”

“That’s not necessary,” I managed to say, my voice strained and faux-weak. “I can’t keep you from your work.”

“But it can wait—“

“No,” I insisted, putting as much urgency into the word as I could. “Go. I’ll be okay.”

After a moment of hesitation, Carter finally nodded, shooting me one last worried glance before stepping out and closing the door behind him.

---