He Chose Her So I Left Carrying His Heir novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: The Wrong Floor
Melanie takes two buses for a second opinion on her baby and wanders into the VIP maternity wing, where Cameron and Celia are celebrating Celia's scan. Celia is kind to her in the hall. Melanie leaves in silence and realizes her scan folder is still on the bench.
The ultrasound technician at the underfunded public clinic told me my baby was measuring small.
She said it to the screen, not to me.
"Could be dates," she said. "Could be nothing. You'd want a second opinion."
The next free appointment at the clinic was in six weeks.
I had nineteen hundred dollars in a crumpled envelope in my coat, saved from months of freelance transcription.
So I took two buses across the city to a private hospital with a glass lobby and a valet stand.
The sign by the elevator said second opinions were on the fourth floor.
I took the wrong corridor.
The carpet was so thick my shoes made no sound.
A nurse went by with a tray of sliced fruit, and a plaque on the wall said DRAYCOTT MATERNITY PAVILION, a gift of the Draycott family.
I knew that name.
My stomach dropped before I understood why.
Five weeks ago Cameron Draycott had ended eighteen months with me in one phone call.
"Celia's pregnant," he'd said. "I have to marry her. I'm sorry, Melanie."
I hadn't known yet that I was pregnant too.
The door at the end of the hall was open a few inches.
I only meant to ask for directions.
Inside, a woman in a camel coat lay back on an exam bed with a blanket over her legs.
A doctor held a wand over her stomach and turned the screen so only she and the people beside her could see it.
Cameron stood at the head of the bed.
His grandmother stood at the foot, with both hands on her black cane.
"Heartbeat is strong," the doctor said. "Nineteen weeks and two days. Your heir is right on schedule."
"A Draycott at last," said his grandmother.
Cameron was smiling at the screen.
I had seen him smile like that twice in eighteen months, and both times it had been at me.
He put his hand over the woman's hand and said, "Thank you, Celia."
I backed up and my hip hit the fruit cart.
A bowl of grapes rolled across the floor.
Nobody inside the room turned around, because the door was thick and the doctor was talking.
But the woman in the camel coat had already stood up.
By the time I got to the bench by the water cooler, she was beside me.
"Oh, honey," she said. "You are white as paper. Sit down before you fall."
She had a soft voice and pearl earrings and a face that looked sorry for me before she knew why.
She filled a paper cup at the cooler and put it in my hands.
Then she dug in her bag and gave me a granola bar.
"Eat that. I carry one everywhere. I'm Celia."
"I'm just visiting someone," I said.
My folder from the clinic was on my knee, and she looked at it and smiled.
"You're expecting too. How far along?"
"Eighteen weeks."
"I'm nineteen. Look at us." She laughed and squeezed my wrist.
"Which clinic sent you? When are you due?"
I told her, because I was dizzy and she was kind.
"Dorrance Street. Late March."
She typed both into her phone with her thumbs.
"Is someone with you? A husband?"
"No."
"Then I will be," she said. "My fiance is just inside. He'd drive you home in a second."
The word fiance went through me and I stood up too fast.
"No, thank you. I'm fine. I have to go."
"You really don't look fine."
"I'm sorry. I have to go."
She let go of my wrist and called after me, "Take care of yourself and that baby."
I walked down the corridor without turning around.
In the elevator I put my hand on my stomach.
The baby was small, the technician had said, and the man who had left me was upstairs hearing that someone else's child was perfect.
Cameron had never asked how I was.
He had never asked if I needed anything, or why I didn't call.
I could have gone back and pushed open that door.
I could have said, I'm eighteen weeks, count the days yourself.
Then I thought about his hand over hers, and what he had said on the phone, and how fast he'd said it.
He had chosen the woman who was already carrying his baby.
I wasn't going to make him choose again.
So I left.
I crossed the glass lobby with my head down and caught the bus with two minutes to spare.
I was four stops past the hospital before I put my hand in my lap and found it empty.
My clinic folder was still on the bench by the water cooler on the fourth floor.
It had my name on the front, my address on the first page, and the scan photo with my due date written on it in pen.
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