Chapter 1

I have polycystic ovary syndrome, and over the past three years, I've been through eight egg retrieval cycles for IVF.

None of them worked.

After three straight years of aggressive hormone treatment, my doctor was blunt.

"Betty, given your condition, I wouldn't recommend doing more than nine stimulation cycles."

So the ninth would be my last.

But through all eight of those cycles, Hadrian had been absent every time it mattered.

The first time, after my trigger shot, my abdomen cramped so badly I broke out in a cold sweat. I called him.

He said, "Don't worry. I'm on my way."

Twenty minutes later, another message came in.

"Wendy needs me with her for her first shift. Get some sleep."

The second time, when the medication made me vomit nonstop, he stood by my bed listening to Wendy give him an update.

One look at me, and he said flatly, "This cycle didn't work. Start the shots again next month."

By the eighth time, I was burning up with a 104-degree fever after my stimulation shots, lying in a hospital bed waiting for him to come.

His phone was off for an entire day.

It wasn't until the next day that Wendy texted me.

"Sorry, Betty."

"I had a sudden stomach issue yesterday, and Dr. Parker canceled his whole day to take me to the hospital."

"Don't worry. I've already rearranged his Monday schedule for you. Your retrieval won't be delayed this time."

Everyone praised Wendy for being dependable.

Everyone thought that as long as Wendy was handling things, nothing could go wrong.

After all, she controlled Hadrian's schedule down to the minute.

My fingers hovered over the screen. Then I called the clinic and canceled the embryo culture.

I didn't know whether Hadrian would show up on time this time either.

But I was done waiting.

Because there wasn't going to be a ninth cycle.

Some people praised Wendy for being more attentive than Hadrian, the actual husband. Others reminded him not to be late again.

A few minutes later, Hadrian replied.

"I'll be there Monday."

He didn't ask me anything. He didn't ask how I was doing.

As if this wasn't about our child at all, just another appointment on his calendar.

I turned off my phone and called the fertility center.

The staff verified my identity three times and warned me that once I withdrew authorization, I would not proceed with the retrieval or the embryo culture, and that the money I'd already spent on medication and testing would not be refunded.

"Mrs. Parker, are you sure?"

I looked at the fading needle marks on my lower abdomen.

"I'm sure."

The revocation forms from the fertility center came through to my phone almost immediately.

That evening, Hadrian got home before ten, which was rare.

He was still listening to a voice memo from Wendy as he changed out of his shoes in the entryway.

Only after it ended did he look up at me.

"Wendy's taken care of everything. Don't be nervous. Nothing's going to go wrong this time."

The termination consent form I had just printed was lying on the dining table.

He reached over and picked it up.

My chest tightened.

If he would just read it carefully, ask me one question, I would tell him that what I was giving up wasn't just this retrieval.

But in the next second, his phone rang.

Wendy's name lit up on the screen.

Hadrian answered, his voice instantly turning soft and warm.

"Is your stomach acting up again? Don't drink coffee right now. Have some oatmeal delivered. The meds are in the second drawer in your office."

Whatever she said next made him grab his jacket and head for the door.

I stood in the entryway.

"You don't need Wendy to arrange Monday for you anymore."

Hadrian stopped short. His eyes landed on my pale face, and he frowned.

He lifted a hand as if to feel my forehead.

I turned away.

"I know the first few times were my fault."

"This time, I've cleared my clinic schedule. I'll get there early. And I won't book anything afterward. Okay?"

Eight years ago, when I had my first hysteroscopy, he was the one holding my hand.

He said that no matter what happened, he would always be there for me.

Back then, he had just started supervising grad students at the medical school. He was sleeping four hours a night, and still he stayed with me at the hospital all night.

For a moment, I almost wondered whether I should believe him one last time.

But then another message from Wendy popped up on his phone.

"Dr. Parker, I feel awful right now. I don't want to be alone."

Hadrian glanced down, and his expression tightened immediately.

"She might be having a panic attack. Let me go check on her. We'll talk about Monday when I get back."

I didn't stop him.

"Hadrian, what I need to say isn't just about Monday."

His hand was already on the doorknob. He turned back, already impatient.

"Then what is it?"

I looked at him and said nothing.

After the door closed, I picked up the consent form again.

Hadrian, you destroyed our last chance with your own hands.