Before the doctor could answer, Ivor pressed on. "Skip the medical jargon. Just tell me—is the baby all right?"
Jocelyn's heart plunged into ice. She forced her head up.
"Get out. Get the hell out!"
Ivor turned to her, wearing that familiar mask of tenderness. "You're awake? How are you feeling? Does anything hurt?"
He reached out to touch her forehead, but she jerked her head away.
His hand froze in midair. Something unreadable flickered behind his eyes.
"Jocelyn..."
"I said get out."
He withdrew his hand and sat on the edge of the bed, a thin veneer of pity settling over his features.
"Since you already know everything, let's stop pretending. Let's lay our cards on the table."
"You cut ties with the Henson family years ago. Without me, who's going to protect you?"
"I'll let yesterday slide. But from now on, you don't touch her."
"As for the baby—consider it my way of making things right with her. But the child will only ever call you Mom. That should satisfy you."
Jocelyn opened her eyes fully. Her voice was flat, almost serene.
"Are you done? Then get out."
Ivor's expression darkened.