Page 118 of The Merger
He's been in super protective mode since the falling out at Kent’s party, going out of his way to ensure I’m pampered. I’m starting to wonder if he’ll ever go back to normal Gannon protective mode.
If not, I’m not mad about it.
Iammad that Aurora reached out to me the next day and apologized for Kent’s behavior. His behavior had no bearing on her, and it’s not her responsibility to make excuses for her husband’s assholery. I didn’t respond because the only response I could come up with was that good women need to stop making excuses for bad men. But that wouldn’t have helped anything, and I really just need this to be behind me.
Because there’s so much goodness ahead.
My phone buzzes repeatedly from somewhere under the pillows. By the time I find it, it’s stopped. Tate’s name is on the screen with a list of texts, none of which I have the strength to read … or mediate. When he sends this many messages at once, there are photos involved.
“Not now, Tate,” I say, yawning. “Find someone else to judge your shirtless pictures. I’m retired.”
Before I put my phone down, I notice that a handful of new emails have hit my inbox.
“Let’s see what this is about,” I say, opening the app. “Maybe my plant order has shipped for Gannon’s office.”
I scroll through the emails, most of them junk and none of them about my order. I’m about to close out of the app when I notice two messages at the bottom of the list. One is from the life insurance company, and the other from the laboratory.
“Oh,” I say, sitting up. “Let’s see what this says.”
I choose the company’s email first, hoping it condenses the results. Scanning a list of terms I don’t understand to decide whether it’s within range sounds like a headache—especially when it’ll wind up with me online and convinced that I have some rare form of cancer or Ebola.
“There we go,” I say, clicking the link. A letter populates and it is addressed to me.
MS JOHNSON, your application requires some additional information. Please choose START to begin your Online Personal History Interview.
“Okay,” I say, confused. “I filled everything out. What did I forget?”
I click the start button, as requested. It prompts me to enter the last four digits of my social security number, so I do that. Finally, a screen loads.
MS JOHNSON,
Our records indicate that you did not disclose a pregnancy when applying for life insurance. This is considered a non-disclosure and, while pregnancy alone cannot disqualify you from coverage, it is a health condition that needs to be reported to the insurance company. Please take the following survey to provide additional information within 10 days.
A cold chill races down my spine.
“What?” I stare at the screen, my stomach crashing to my knees. “That’s … that can’t be right.”
My chest squeezes so tight it’s hard to breathe. Hard to swallow.This. Can’t. Be. Happening.
I hop off the bed, my adrenaline too high to sit still, and reread the message. My finger shakes as I trace the words to keep from scanning it. I read every single word, letting them sink in.
Oh.
My.
God.
I’m going to puke.
This can’t be true. There’s no way. Well, there’s technically a way, but it’s impossible.
I am not pregnant!
“The letter is just wrong,” I say, on the verge of panicking. “I’ll look at the lab results and determine what went wrong. It’ll make sense in a minute. It’s going to be fine.”
I click back to my email, poking at the laboratory results three times before it finally opens.
There is a list of things, most of which I don’t understand, and all show a normal range from what I can gather.
