On Sunday, I took Janet to the hospital, lying that a friend of mine knew an international expert who specialized in infertility, but we needed some information from her.
I also told her not to mention it to York, and she agreed.
Even though I had seen many of her past medical reports, and Janet always believed her infertility was her own fault, I couldn't buy it.
Those reports were always taken by York after Janet's hospital visits and brought back with the doctor's comments.
If York could tamper with her fertility medication, who was to say he wouldn't do the same with the reports?
The hospital results weren't out yet, but York had returned.
6
He still carried that air of disdain, his hair impeccably groomed. Seeing me at home, he gave a habitual snort and then went into the bedroom to argue with Janet.
The usual ending followed—he stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
This time, I was prepared. The moment he left, I put on a hat and mask and followed him.
Just outside the complex, I saw him drive off in his car.
I pulled out my phone to hail a ride, but fearing he'd get away before the car arrived, I hurriedly grabbed a bike parked at the entrance and set off after him.