wrapped in a cream shawl and seated in a wheelchair near the exam room door.
“This family has waited long enough for a boy,” Vivian told the receptionist, who smiled politely and pretended not to hear.
Celeste lay on the exam bed in a pale silk blouse that had been lifted to reveal her flat stomach. She looked beautiful in a deliberate way: soft curls, diamond studs, lip gloss the color of rose petals. Her mother, Nadine, hovered near her purse and kept checking the hallway.
Adrian kissed Celeste’s forehead.
“All right,” he said, beaming. “Show us our son.”
The doctor, a middle-aged man named Dr. Salim, glanced around the crowded room. “Usually we limit guests.”
Vivian gave him a regal smile. “This is a very important child.”
Dr. Salim did not smile back. He looked at Celeste. “Ms. Vale, you consent to everyone remaining present?”
Celeste hesitated for half a second.
Adrian noticed. “Of course she does.”
“I need her answer,” the doctor said.
Celeste’s cheeks colored. “Yes. It’s fine.”
Dr. Salim dimmed the lights. The monitor glowed blue-white. Everyone leaned forward.
Adrian imagined the moment already: the grainy shape on the screen, his mother crying, his father finally proud, Celeste squeezing his hand while Lena disappeared into the background of his life where she belonged.
The probe touched Celeste’s abdomen.
Dr. Salim moved it slowly. Once. Twice.
The room went quiet.
There was no rhythmic flicker. No tiny spine. No pulsing proof of the heir they had built a celebration around.
Celeste’s hand clamped around the sheet.
“Maybe lower,” she said.
Dr. Salim checked the chart beside him. “You told intake you were fourteen weeks.”
“Yes.”
He adjusted the machine again.
Adrian laughed nervously. “Doctor, is he hiding from us?”
No one laughed with him.
Dr. Salim removed the probe and reached for a towel. “Ms. Vale, I’m going to ask your guests to step outside.”
Vivian stiffened. “Why?”
“Because I need to discuss medical information.”
Celeste sat up. “No. Say it here.”
Her voice was too loud.
Dr. Salim looked at her for several seconds. “Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
He set the towel down, folded his hands, and spoke carefully.
“There is no pregnancy visible on this scan.”
Edmund frowned. “What does that mean?”
“It means she is not pregnant.”
The lilies in Adrian’s hand sagged. “That’s impossible.”
Celeste shook her head. “No. He’s wrong. The home tests were positive. The blood test was positive.”
Dr. Salim opened the file. “The blood test uploaded to our portal has irregular formatting. It does not match the laboratory template. We contacted the lab this morning to verify it. They have no record of that test.”
Vivian’s face changed color slowly, like milk cooling in tea.
Celeste swung her legs off the table. “You had no right to call them.”
“We verify outside results when there are inconsistencies,” Dr. Salim said. “There is more.”
Nadine grabbed her daughter’s coat. “We’re leaving.”
Vivian stepped between her and the door. “No one is leaving.”
The doctor’s voice remained even. “Ms. Vale’s transferred medical history includes surgical notes from St. Anne’s Hospital. Eighteen months ago, she underwent a procedure that would make natural pregnancy impossible.”
The blue balloons shifted gently near the ceiling vent.
Adrian looked at Celeste. “What procedure?”
She stared at
