Page 63 of Toxic Salvation
“I see him.” Kovan’s stare stays fixed on the monitor with an intensity that makes my chest tight. “He’s big.”
I find my gaze moving from the monitor to the man at my side. That intense look of pride he’s wearing does something to me, turning my insides into putty.
He’s going to be such a good father.
“I’ll give you two some privacy,” Dr. Mann says, slipping out.
“It’s surreal,” I whisper, if only because the silence feels too big and I need to fill it with something.
“That’s our baby.” Kovan squints at the monitor. “Our son.”
The reality hits me all at once. In a few months, there will be an actual baby. I’ll be a mother. Kovan will be a father. And there will be no going back from any of it.
But…
I need answers before then. I need to know who he really is and what he’s really doing. Because once I see our son in his arms—once I watch him become a dad—I won’t be able to walk away.
No matter what I discover about him.
“Vesper?” Kovan is studying my face now instead of the screen. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I force a smile. “Just processing.”
We both know I’m lying.
23
VESPER
“Dr. Nass?”
I bolt upright from the uncomfortable hospital chair. My lower back protests after hours of keeping vigil beside Mom’s bed. The doctor stands in the doorway, but her smile is the somber sympathy of a funeral director. It’s the face of a woman bringing bad news.
“Were we expecting you?” I cross to Mom’s bedside, instinctively positioning myself between the two of them. As if that’ll make a difference.
“No, and I apologize for not calling ahead.” Dr. Nass steps into the room and closes the door behind her. “But this is urgent.”
Through the small window in the door, I catch sight of Kovan’s broad shoulders. He’s stationed himself in the hallway like a sentry, close enough to intervene if needed but far enough to give us privacy. Part of me wants to call him in. I hate that I’ve come to rely on him this way, hate that I crave his strength when everything falls apart.
“What’s wrong?” Mom struggles to sit up straighter. “Is it about the trial?”
Dr. Nass pulls out a tablet. “The hospital is being sued.”
“Sued? By who?”
“One of the patients who was supposed to be in the clinical trial. They’re claiming breach of contract.”
My mouth goes dry. This is it. This is where my careful lies unravel. And when they do, they'll destroy not just me, but my dying mother, too.
“I don’t understand.” Mom looks between us in confusion.
“Someone who was originally selected for your trial spot is upset about being removed.” I keep my explanation simple, but inside, I’m screaming.
This is my fault. All of it.
Dr. Nass consults her tablet again. “It’s more complicated than that. This patient was chosen initially, but when we rechecked their medical data, we found discrepancies that disqualified them from participation. Their levels weren’t within the acceptable range for the trial parameters.”
Mom’s hand finds mine. “That’s how a spot opened for me? I took someone else’s place?”
