Chapter 18 - The Truth Hidden in the Cells
Dr. Brooks closed the door.
Sophie sat beside me.
We had become experts at reading her face.
This time, I couldn't.
“The pathology confirms the lesion was gestational trophoblastic disease.”
Sophie nodded.
“We know that.”
“Yes.”
Dr. Brooks placed another page on the desk.
“But the genetic analysis told us which pregnancy it came from.”
The room changed.
I stared at her.
“What?”
Sophie leaned forward.
“You can tell that?”
“In some cases.”
Dr. Brooks looked at both of us.
“The abnormal cells are genetically connected to the second pregnancy.”
Sophie stopped breathing.
The second baby.
Morning Mist.
Sixteen weeks.
The heartbeat.
The nursery we had started painting three days before everything disappeared.
Sophie whispered, “So this started then?”
“Most likely.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“But that was almost two years ago.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't anyone find it?”
“Your levels eventually became low enough that routine follow-up ended.”
Dr. Brooks spoke carefully.
“Then the third pregnancy appears to have triggered renewed activity.”
Sophie stared at the paper.
I felt anger rising.
“At the hospital?”
Dr. Brooks understood.
“Ethan.”
“Did somebody miss something?”
“We are reviewing the records.”
“That's not an answer.”
Sophie touched my arm.
“Ethan.”
I looked at her.
She shook her head.
Not now.
I forced myself to breathe.
Dr. Brooks continued.
“The important thing is that we know what we're treating.”
Sophie asked the question that mattered.
“Am I cancer-free?”
“Not yet.”
The words landed hard.
“The surgery removed visible disease.”
Dr. Brooks pointed at the blood results.
“But we need your hCG level to fall to zero and remain there.”
“How long?”
“We continue treatment.”
Sophie leaned back.
She looked exhausted.
I took her hand.
This time, she held mine first.
On the drive home, neither of us spoke for ten minutes.
Then Sophie said, “I blamed myself.”
“For what?”
“The second baby.”
My grip tightened on the wheel.
“You asked the doctor whether you caused it.”
“I asked every doctor.”
She stared through the windshield.
“I thought maybe my body killed our baby.”
“Sophie.”
“And all this time…”
She began crying.
“It was already happening to me.”
I pulled into an empty parking lot.
I turned off the engine.
She covered her face.
I unbuckled my seat belt and moved toward her.
“No more.”
She shook her head.
“No more what?”
“No more blaming yourself for things you couldn't control.”
She looked at me.
“That applies to you too.”
I froze.
She wiped her face.
“You couldn't give me cancer.”
“No.”
“You didn't cause the miscarriages.”
“No.”
“You did hurt me.”
I nodded.
“Yes.”
“You did abandon me emotionally.”
“Yes.”
“You did ignore my calls.”
“Yes.”
Her eyes stayed on mine.
“Take responsibility for what you actually did.”
She touched my hand.
“Stop punishing yourself for everything else.”
I stared at her.
May you like
For years, I had mistaken punishment for accountability.
Sophie had just shown me the difference.
