“Eight months after divorcing me because I “couldn’t give him a family,”

She wore a silver dress.

Her dark hair was pinned elegantly behind her head.

For one strange second, seeing her made me remember all the moments I had trusted her.

Her hand squeezing mine after the first failed transfer.

Her voice telling me not to blame myself.

Her promise that she would do everything possible to help me become a mother.

Then she saw me.

The champagne glass stopped halfway to her mouth.

“Mia.”

I smiled.

“Hello, Doctor.”

Her face lost color.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was invited.”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

I almost laughed.

“You sound concerned.”

“I mean physically. You look…”

“Tired?”

She noticed my hospital bracelet before I could pull my sleeve over it.

Her eyes widened.

“Mia.”

I held her gaze.

“I had a baby yesterday.”

The glass trembled in her hand.

Not surprise.

Fear.

That was when I knew.

I stepped closer.

“A daughter.”

Sloane looked past me, toward the hallway.

“Does Ryan know?”

“No.”

Her lips parted.

“Does Patricia?”

“No.”

She closed her eyes briefly.

I removed one sheet from the folder.

The DNA report.

“Ryan is the father.”

Sloane read the first lines.

Her knees seemed to weaken.

“Oh my God.”

“You don’t look happy.”

“Mia, you need to leave.”