Page 57 of His Secret Merger

“Juliette, thank you for your patience,” she began, settling onto her stool across from us. She folded her hands, and I noticed how calm they looked—not a tremor, not a flicker of hesitation. I wondered if she’d practiced that, the art of still hands.

“I’ve had the chance to review all your test results,” she continued, glancing briefly at the folder in front of her. “And I want to start by saying you’ve done everything right so far. You were proactive, you got the testing done early, and that gives us the best possible information moving forward.”

Beside me, Gabrielle’s fingers tightened slightly around mine. I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry.

The doctor’s voice softened just a touch. “As you know, we were looking closely at ovarian reserve, tubal function, and general reproductive health. And unfortunately, Juliette, the tests confirmed what we were concerned about.” She paused—not long, but long enough for the words to land like a stone in my stomach.

“You have diminished ovarian reserve. That means the quantity and quality of your eggs are lower than expected for your age. The ovaries aren’t producing as many healthy, viable eggs, and over time, that reduces the chances of natural conception. And could eventually reduce the chance of you carrying a baby. It’s one of the most common reasons women struggle to get pregnant as they get older, and it can make it much harder for fertilization to happen the conventional way, even with regular cycles.”

I felt the air rush out of my chest, like someone had pulled a string and let the whole balloon collapse. My fingers clenched instinctively, nails digging into Gabrielle’s hand. She didn’t flinch. She just held on tighter.

The doctor kept talking, the words blurring slightly at the edges. I caught fragments—“not your fault… common among women with your profile…. not the end of the road.” My mind spun, skidding over all of it like a stone skipping across water.

“I know this is difficult news,” the doctor said gently. “But there’s also very good news here. Your uterus and general reproductive health are excellent. You’re an ideal candidate for in vitro fertilization.”

I blinked. The words felt foreign, like they belonged to someone else’s story, someone else’s body. Gabrielle let out a shakybreath beside me, her thumb brushing against my skin in slow, grounding circles.

“With IVF, we bypass the natural process by stimulating the ovaries to produce multiple eggs, retrieving them, and fertilizing them in a lab before transferring the embryo to the uterus. Given your results, we have every reason to believe you’d respond very well to treatment just like your twin has.”

I nodded faintly, though I wasn’t sure if I was nodding in understanding or just to keep from falling apart. My mind was already spinning ahead, stumbling over words like “donor” and “timelines,” even as the doctor reassured me that my chances were good.

For a moment, the room went very still. I became acutely aware of everything: the faint buzz of the overhead light, the cool edge of the exam table against my leg, the soft, almost imperceptible hitch in Gabrielle’s breathing.

I turned my head slightly toward her, and when our eyes met, it was like looking into a mirror that knew exactly what I was feeling. Her own history, her own heartbreak — it was all there in the way she squeezed my hand, in the way her eyes softened.

“We’ll get through this,” she murmured. “Whatever you want to do, Jules—we’ll get through it.”

I swallowed hard, willing myself not to cry, not here, not yet. But something inside me cracked anyway, a small fracture I couldn’t quite contain. My throat burned with all the words I wasn’t sure how to say.

I turned back to the doctor, managing a shaky breath. “Can you… walk me through the next steps?”

The doctor gave a small, encouraging smile. “Of course. We’ll take it one step at a time.”

One step at a time. I let the words settle, tasting them carefully.

For the first time in weeks, maybe longer, the tight, suffocating knot in my chest loosened just a little.

The late afternoon sunlight spilled across the sidewalk as we stepped out of the doctor’s office, and for a second, I just stood there, eyes closed, letting the cool air hit my face. It smelled faintly of car exhaust and blooming jasmine from the landscaping, but it was sharp and real, and right now, I needed that.

Gabrielle shifted beside me, looping her arm through mine. “So,” she said softly, “on a scale of one to ‘burn it all down,’ where are we landing today?”

I huffed out something that might have been a laugh or just a breath that had nowhere else to go. “Somewhere in the middle,” I murmured. “Like… smoldering ashes, maybe.”

She squeezed my arm, leaning her head lightly against my shoulder as we walked toward the parking lot. “I’m proud of you, Jules. I know you’re probably too stubborn to hear it, but I am.”

My phone buzzed inside my purse—a sharp vibration that cut right through my fog. Without thinking, I pulled it out and glanced at the screen.

Damian: Thinking about you. How did it go?

My thumb hovered over the screen, heart stuttering in my chest. I stared at the message like it was written in a foreign language, something I couldn’t quite translate.

Gabrielle tilted her head to peek. “You going to tell him,” she murmured, “or are you going to keep pretending you’ve got this all under control?”

I let out a shaky breath, thumb grazing the edge of the screen—then I clicked it off and slid the phone back into my purse.

“Jules,” Gabrielle said quietly, “you don’t have to do this alone.”

I gave a weak smile, more out of habit than conviction. “Maybe I do.”

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