Ivan had started his own company, but a significant portion of his connections had come through my father's introductions. On the other end of the line, there was a moment of hesitation.
But just then, a woman's panicked cry came through the phone.
"Ivan! Cooper just threw up—"
"Let me see!" Ivan's voice turned urgent. Then, hurried: "Dad, you really need to stop coddling Stella. Something's come up on my end. I have to go. I'll talk to her tonight, I promise."
Click.
The dial tone echoed down the corridor. After a long silence, my father ground his teeth. "Do the surgery. Her husband might as well be dead. Whatever happens, I'll take responsibility. Give me the consent form—I'll sign it."
The anesthetic slid cold into my veins. My eyelids grew heavier and heavier, but my body felt lighter—weightless, almost—as if I were dissolving into nothing.
When I opened my eyes again, there was a moment of hollow confusion. My hand drifted to my lower abdomen. An hour ago, there had been a tiny life here, connected to me by blood and bone.
Now there was nothing.
"Stella."
My mother was watching me, her face creased with worry. I managed a weak smile. "Mom, I'm fine."