Chapter 1 - The Diagnosis
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The word hung in the sterile, heavily air-conditioned clinic.
“Inhospitable.”
That was the adjective Dr. Aris chose. Not infertile. Not barren. Inhospitable. As though Nora Hayes were a cheap motel with a flickering neon sign that no respectable traveler would ever enter.
Nora sat on the edge of the examination table. The paper beneath her thighs crinkled, breaking the heavy silence. The disposable gown felt rough and humiliating against her skin. She did not look at the ultrasound images frozen on the monitor. Instead, she stared at the back of her father’s neck.
Richard Hayes did not flinch. He did not turn toward his daughter. His jaw simply tightened.
“Zero percent?” His voice was completely flat. “Without a miracle?”
“Yes,” Dr. Aris replied.
The physician shifted uncomfortably in his leather chair. He knew exactly who Richard Hayes was. Everyone in this part of Chicago knew the Hayes family, and more importantly, everyone knew who they owed.
“The scarring is extensive, particularly given the lack of medical intervention over the last decade,” the doctor added nervously.
“Thank you, doctor.”
Richard stood and buttoned his jacket. He did not look angry; he looked like a businessman who had just been told an investment had gone bankrupt.
“We’re finished here.”
He looked toward the door.
“Nora, get dressed.”
He walked out without looking back.
Nora’s mother, Diane, had spent the entire appointment scrolling through her phone in the corner. She finally looked up. There was no sadness or sympathy on her perfectly made-up face. Only profound inconvenience.
Diane dropped the phone into her designer handbag, let out a long sigh, and followed her husband out the door.
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Nora was twenty-six. Inside the syndicate world, an unmarried twenty-six-year-old woman was already approaching an expiration date. An unmarried twenty-six-year-old woman who could not breed was regarded as absolute garbage.
She dressed slowly, pulling her silk blouse over her shoulders, feeling an unfamiliar hollow sensation inside her chest. But it was not grief. It was relief. She would never have to hand a child over to this brutal life.
