The next day, she began IVF. Hormone treatments, early appointments, injections—it was grueling. But it was hers. No approval, no permission required.
For the first time in years, she felt alive.
Meanwhile, Curtis lounged against the velvet headboard of a hotel suite, whiskey glass in hand. Carol, wrapped in a silk robe, sat at the vanity, applying lipstick.
“You’re awfully quiet,” she teased. “Thinking about your ex?”
Curtis chuckled dryly. “Not my concern anymore.”
“She’s probably still crying over you,” Carol said, smirking. “Maybe she’s adopted a cat already.”
Curtis smirked, though something in her words unsettled him. “I left her childless. Honestly, I did her a favor.”
Still, when the lights dimmed and the city quieted, unease crept in. Did Laura still cling to hope? Did she still think of him? He drowned the questions with another drink, comforted by Carol’s promise: “Soon you’ll have a child of your own.”
