Page 50 of Yours to Conquer

What time is your appointment?

It’s not what I’d hoped for, but at least he texted.

My appointment is tomorrow at eight in the morning. Are you going to come?

I wait for his response and receive none. The hope I felt has plummeted to a new low. I brush my teeth and get ready for an early night. I spend the rest of the evening picking out flowers to have delivered to him every day this week. It’s how he wooed me, and I hope to turn the tables on him. I know he still loves me; I need to break through his angry shell to get to his heart again.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

I wake early and take extra care in getting ready. I moisturize my legs and arms, so they look and feel silky soft. After taming my loose curls, I leave them hanging down my back. I apply my makeup, lining my eyes in the cappuccino-brown pencil that makes my green eyes stand out. The last thing I apply is deep-red lipstick and a coat of sheer gloss. I check myself from all angles in the full-length mirror. Happy with my reflection, I pick up my black handbag and head out. If I leave now, I’ll miss the heaviest traffic and will probably arrive a few minutes early.

The timeI thought I was going to save by leaving early, I lost when I tried to find a parking place. I end up running down the street in four-inch heels. Rushing through the revolving doors, I come to a dead stop in the lobby. Standing against the marble wall is Anthony with no expression on his face. He leans against the wall with one foot bent and pressed against it. His arms are crossed defensively in front of his chest. He almost looks bored.

“I’m sorry to keep you. I had the toughest time parking and had to run all the way here. I hope you weren’t here long.” I try to catch my breath as I wait for his reply.

He walks to the elevator and waits for the car to come. When the door opens, we both step in. “What floor?” he asks curtly. He isn’t in the mood for small talk.

“Third floor. It’s room 302.” I watch him push the button to the third floor. The elevator lurches up, making me lose my balance. I nearly topple over in my high heels. He grabs my arm and helps me gain my balance but let’s go immediately.

“You should choose more appropriate shoes,” he spits out in a vicious voice.

Before I can respond, the car comes to a stop on the third floor. The door opens, and he steps out in front of me and makes his way to room 302. He’d usually walk beside me or lead me, but I guess his anger has influenced his manners.

He steps into the waiting room and stands to the side as I check in with the receptionist. I take a seat in one chair against the wall. He sits as far away from me as possible. I lower my eyes to avoid the tears that threaten to spill. I know I hurt him. I can see it in his eyes. I slowly lift my head to peek in his direction and find him staring at me. My heart skips a beat. As soon as he sees me look at him, he focuses his eyes somewhere else.

A door opens, and a nurse calls my name. I get up quickly and turn to Anthony, asking him if he wants to come in. He looks at me with a level of surprise I didn’t expect.Did he think I’d leave him in the waiting room?We are directed to a conference room. I take one of the two seats in front of the desk. I pat the handle on the chair next to me. He looks at the chair and then at me before he sits in the empty seat.

Just then, my physician walks in. Carrying several pieces of paper in her hand, she sits at her desk and looks at both of us.

“Good morning, Emma.” She holds out her hand and offers it to Anthony. “I’m Dr. Clark.”

“I’m Anthony,” is all he offers.

“Okay, I assume you are both here for the results of the blood test. The lab faxed them over this morning. Your iron levels are deficient. You are borderline anemic. I am going to prescribe an iron supplement. The news that you’re waiting for can be perceived as good or bad. I have no idea where you both sit in your relationship or your desire to have children.” She looks to both of us before she continues.

The only thing I hear is the rush of blood in my head and the words of my self-conscience telling me,Holy shit, you’re pregnant.

She looks down at the lab results to double-check the findings, I assume. “The test is negative, Emma. You’re not pregnant,” she says.

The news is almost sad. My first reaction is to cry. I swallow the knot in my throat. “Can low iron explain nausea and missed cycles?”

I look at Anthony and see his face is devoid of emotion. I don’t know if he’s relieved or disappointed. He stands up and leaves without saying a word.

“I take it by his reaction, this is bad news? He looks disappointed.” She looks at the papers littering her desk. “Let’s get you on an iron supplement and check your levels in a few weeks.”

“He’s not disappointed. He’s probably relieved. We had a nasty breakup on Saturday. I need to discuss birth control options, Dr. Clark. Clearly, the minipill is not working effectively for me. I have no idea when I’ll be sexually active again, but I don’t want to have another scare. I need to either stop my periods for months or get a regimen in which they come like clockwork. What do you recommend?”

We talk about several options, and after weighing the pros and cons, I decide on the shot. She has the nurse prep the exam room. She leads me into the room and administers the injection.

“Use a second form of birth control for the next week. After that,you should be good to go. Your cycle will be irregular for the first few months but will be less frequent with consistent use. Routine shots will protect you from unwanted pregnancy. In the event you decide you want to get pregnant, you just opt out of your next injection and continue to practice.” She gives me a warm smile. “Do you have questions?”

“No, thank you very much.” I’m escorted to the front desk, where I pay my bill and make the appointment for my next injection.

I walk out of the office feeling incredibly sad even though the news should’ve made me happy. I’m not carrying a child out of wedlock and won’t have to raise a child on my own. I lean against the wall and take a deep breath. I feel empty and bereft. I’ve lost Anthony, and now I don’t have a part of him to hold on to.

I pull back my shoulders and walk to the elevator. In the end, it’s a good thing. I’m just being sentimental and selfish. Having his child would’ve kept him in my life, in some form, even if it was only visitation and parent-teacher conferences.

I push the button to call the elevator. As I wait for the car to arrive, I hear my inner voice chant,Fight for him.

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