Chapter 1

The day my husband Ethan got his azoospermia report, I had just found out I was pregnant.

He sat outside the hospital until dark. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm.

"Whose baby is it?"

I thought he was in shock. I thought it was just something people say when they can't process what they're hearing.

Then his childhood friend Megan called.

"Don't scare her. She's pregnant. If something happens, you'll be the one hurting in the end." She paused, then added, "The report's right there. If you want to pretend you didn't see it, that's your call."

Ethan didn't yell at me. He didn't bring up divorce. He still drove me to work every morning and came with me to every prenatal appointment. But after each visit, he'd ask the same thing: "When are we scheduling the procedure?"

I told him a hundred times. The baby was his.

He'd hold me, gentle as ever.

"Claire, I can act like none of this happened. Get rid of the baby, and we can still have a good life."

Then at ten weeks, I started hemorrhaging.

By the time he got to the hospital, I'd already been wheeled out of the operating room. The nurse told him the baby was gone.

He stood at the foot of the bed, white as paper.

I thought he'd finally believe me.

But he turned to the doctor and asked, "Is the embryonic tissue still available? Can we request a DNA test?"

I took off my wedding ring.

"When the results come back, mail me the divorce papers."

As for whose baby it really was—that didn't matter to me anymore.

The nurse brought over the authorization form. I flipped to the last page and signed my name.

Ethan stared at me, like he hadn't expected me to agree so easily.

"Claire."

"Yours too." My voice was hoarse. The IV needle on the back of my hand trembled. "Sign it and get out. I want to sleep."

The doctor took the forms. "The embryonic tissue will be transferred to the testing facility. Results will take seven business days."

Ethan immediately pressed him. "Is the sample sufficient? Could it be contaminated?"

The doctor looked at him. "Standard procedures will be followed. Your wife just came out of surgery. She needs rest."

After the door closed, Ethan sat back down at my bedside. He pulled the blanket over my feet where they'd slipped out.

"Once the results come back, this will all be over."

I kept my eyes closed. "Yeah. Over."

He must have heard what I really meant. His hand froze on the edge of the blanket.

"I'm not trying to divorce you."

"I am."

"You're not well right now. Your emotions aren't stable. Don't rush into anything."

There it was again.

From the moment he got that test result, everything I said was written off as emotional. But every question he asked was just being careful. Just wanting the truth.

When the anesthesia wore off, my lower abdomen seized with cramps. I curled into myself, and Ethan hit the call button immediately, then crouched beside me and took my hand.

"The doctor's coming."

Three years of marriage, and he was still as gentle as the beginning. When I first got pregnant, I'd woken up at midnight craving tomato soup, and he drove halfway across the city to find the ingredients.

Now the baby was gone, and he sat by my side, but what weighed heaviest on his mind was whether it had carried his blood.

When I woke, it was dark. Ethan wasn't in the room.

Megan's voice drifted through the door. "At ten weeks, theoretically, yes. But it's so early—whether they can isolate the fetal DNA from the maternal sample depends on the specifics."

Ethan's voice was low. "So the result might not be accurate?"

"I can't guarantee anything." Megan went on. "Claire signed pretty fast. Maybe she's genuinely confident. Or maybe she already looked into it and knows this kind of sample doesn't always give a clear answer. The results aren't in yet—don't let her talk you out of it again."

A long silence. Then Ethan spoke. "She just lost the baby. Don't talk about her like that."

"Fine. I overstepped." Megan let out a soft scoff. "Since when have I not warned you before you fell on your face? She sheds a few tears, and suddenly I'm the enemy."

The door opened.

Megan walked in carrying a thermos, and when she saw I was awake, her step faltered.

"You heard?"

She didn't pretend. That much was like her.

"I heard."

Megan set the thermos down and turned to glare at Ethan. "I told you to close the door."

Ethan's expression hardened. "Go home."

"I spent two hours making this and brought it all the way here. Haven't even had a glass of water. Fine. I can tell when I'm not wanted."

She was halfway to the door when she looked back at me. "Claire, our lab really did check twice. You know what Ethan's dealing with."

I looked her in the eye. "One sample, examined once before centrifugation and once after—and you're calling that two separate tests?"

Megan's expression shifted.

"The results were the same both times. What's the difference?"

"You looked at one sample twice and made it sound like two separate analyses." I held her gaze. "Ethan believed it, so he decided I'd cheated. He wouldn't even acknowledge the baby."

Ethan put his hand on my shoulder. "Lie down first."

I pushed his hand away.

Megan stood by the door, biting her lip. "I was trying to help. If you want to treat me like the enemy, go ahead."

"Megan." Ethan stopped her. "Send me the full report."

She glared at him. "I sent it ages ago. Not my fault you didn't read it."

The door slammed shut.

Ethan pulled up the image Megan had sent. The screenshot cut off right at "no sperm observed after centrifugation." Whether there was anything below that line, you couldn't tell.

He placed his phone face-down on the table.

"I'll go pick it up myself tomorrow."

"Why not today?"

He looked at me but said nothing.

Because today, he already had his answer.

Wife pregnant. Husband sterile. What was there left to verify?