Abigail’s POV

“Died?”

I stared at the screen. My baby was right there. How could she tell me he was dead when I’d been talking to him in the car?

The doctor kept speaking, but I couldn’t understand her. My vision blurred, and everything went dark.

When I woke, I was in a hospital bed with an IV taped to my hand. For a moment, I couldn’t remember what had happened. Then I remembered the scan.

I pulled out the IV and climbed out of bed. Someone called after me, but I kept going, barefoot in my hospital gown, until I found the doctor outside an examination room.

I grabbed her coat. “My baby. How is my baby gone? He was fine! He was supposed to be fine!”

People stopped to stare. The doctor reached for my hands, but I held on.

“How is he gone?”

“Abigail, please let go. Come back inside. We’ll ask Doctor Lloyd to speak with you.”

I released her because she’d mentioned his name. He had helped me get pregnant. If anyone could fix this, it had to be him.

A nurse took me into an examination room. I was still shaking when Doctor Lloyd arrived and pulled a chair beside the bed.

“Abigail, calm down. I warned you that fertility treatment required careful monitoring. You insisted on going ahead, but you haven’t kept up with your appointments. And you’ve been drinking heavily.”

“Just tell me what you can do.”

“Alcohol can seriously harm a developing baby, though we can’t determine the exact cause of this loss from a scan alone.” He paused. “The measurements suggest he may have stopped developing about two days ago.”

Two days. I’d been carrying my dead son while dreaming of Sebastian coming to take us home.

I tried to stand, but my legs gave way. Doctor Lloyd reached for me as I dropped to my knees.

“Please save him. I’m begging you.” I clutched his coat. “This baby means everything to me. He can’t die. He can’t die, do you hear me? Save him!”

He loosened my fingers and helped me onto the bed.

“I’m sorry. There’s nothing we can do to bring him back. But we do need to discuss your treatment.”

I shook my head. Discussing treatment meant accepting that he was dead. I wasn’t ready to do that, even though three doctors had checked and none had found a heartbeat.

Claudine had introduced me to Doctor Lloyd and arranged for him to prescribe the fertility medication. His wife held a senior position at her company, so he’d had good reason to cooperate.

I’d thought I had everything worked out. The right doctor, the right medication, a child who would secure my place in the Simons family. Losing him had never seemed possible.

Doctor Lloyd explained my treatment options and the symptoms I needed to watch for. I answered when he asked questions, but little of it stayed with me. When the nurse handed me paperwork, I folded it and put it in my bag.

In the lobby, a woman was soothing a crying infant. She kissed his forehead and adjusted his blanket, looking tired but happy.

I turned away and pressed my hand to my stomach. My son was still inside me. How could he be there and already be gone?

Outside, I sat on a bench near the entrance. The driver was waiting nearby, but I couldn’t face him yet.

“I can’t let anyone find out,” I whispered.

That thought came before anything else, and I hated myself for it. My child had died, and I was already afraid of losing my room in the estate.

But I knew what would happen. Sebastian would order me out. Mila wouldn’t plead for me to stay, and Titus wouldn’t offer another guarantee. They had wanted a grandson, not me.

Only yesterday, I’d convinced myself Sebastian was beginning to care. He’d stopped me from hurting the baby and insisted I carry him to term. I’d treated his threat like a promise of love.

This morning, I’d been humming as I dressed. Now I couldn’t remember the tune.

A couple passed, laughing together. I watched them disappear around the corner, then wiped my face. I needed to stop staring at strangers as though their happiness were an insult.

Think, Abigail.

For a moment, watching cars pass the hospital gates, I wanted to step into the road and stop thinking altogether. The thought frightened me. I gripped the bench and stayed where I was until it passed.

I needed help, and there was only one person I could call.

Claudine had wanted Emilia gone. She’d helped arrange this pregnancy, and she wouldn’t want our involvement exposed. Perhaps she could persuade Doctor Lloyd to keep my records private while we decided what to do.

That wasn’t a solution, but it was somewhere to start.

I opened my bag and found the folded paperwork beside my phone. The doctor’s instructions were printed across the first page. I couldn’t pretend this would disappear simply because I refused to read them.

I would have to return for care. I would have to explain future appointments. And sooner or later, someone would expect a baby.

My hand stopped over the papers.

There would be no son to bring home. No little sweaters, no cradle, no chance to hear him call me Mommy. For a moment, I forgot the estate and everyone in it. I bent over my bag and cried for him.

When I could breathe properly again, I took out a tissue and cleaned my face. The driver was looking toward the entrance. I couldn’t sit here forever.

I put the papers away and walked to the car.

“How was the appointment, Miss Tanner?” he asked as he opened the door.

I rested a hand on my stomach. My throat tightened, but I made myself answer.

“Fine. Take me home.”