Michael looked like he was about to cry. He wanted to snatch them back but didn't dare.
I turned the pages one by one.
The date of Edith Walker's first embryo transfer was printed there in black and white.
Five years ago today.
The same day I received my third critical condition notice in the ICU.
So while Jesse had been sobbing outside the operating room, begging doctors to save me, he'd also been calmly arranging for another woman to carry his child.
The sheer absurdity of it washed over me like a wave.
I closed my eyes, handed the records back to Michael, and walked away.
Michael chased after me and blocked my path.
His face was flushed red as he scrambled to explain.
"Lucretia, listen to me! Back then, what that professor did to you damaged your uterus. The doctors said you'd never be able to have children!"
"Jesse was afraid it would break you, and even more afraid his family would pressure you over it. So he told everyone the problem was his!"
"But his mother's dying wish was to hold a grandchild! He didn't have a choice!"
Michael's voice cracked. He raised his hand and swore to me with every ounce of conviction he had.