Draft ab

Draft ab
Chapter 127: Shattered Certainty

ABEL DONOVAN

Sarah frowned, genuine confusion clouding her professional expression. She set down the sample bag and leaned forward slightly.

"Oh," she said slowly. "Mrs. Annabelle didn't tell you?"

My heart rate immediately kicked up, alarm bells ringing in my head. "What?" I demanded. "She didn't tell me what? What are you talking about?"

"Actually, before you two divorced..." Sarah cleared her throat, clearly uncomfortable but committed to continuing. "She came here to test herself for pregnancy. It was... I remember it clearly because of how happy she was."

I frowned, not understanding where she was going with this, what she was trying to tell me. "And...?" I prompted, my voice coming out sharper than I'd intended.

"It was positive," Sarah said simply, the words dropping like bombs into the space between us. "She was pregnant. And she was so excited that day—genuinely thrilled. I've seen a lot of pregnancy test results, delivered a lot of news, but I've rarely seen someone that purely happy about it. She said she couldn't wait to tell you. I could see the excitement all over her face. She was practically glowing."

I froze completely, feeling like the floor had dropped out from under me, like reality itself was crashing down around my ears.

My mouth moved, but for a moment, no sound came out. Then: "But... Anna never told me she was pregnant."

The words sounded weak, confused, like they were coming from someone else.

"I think that day was your anniversary or something," Sarah continued, her voice gentle now, like she was breaking bad news to a patient. "She mentioned planning something special, wanting to surprise you with the news. She was so excited about how she was going to tell you, about what your reaction would be."

Sarah paused, her expression becoming more troubled.

"But then what I heard next was that you'd divorced her," she finished quietly. "That the marriage had ended. I was shocked—we all were. It seemed so sudden, so unexpected given how happy she'd seemed just days before."

"Why didn't you tell me?" I snapped, anger flaring hot and sudden in my chest. "Why didn't you say something? Mention it? If you knew she was pregnant, if you knew there might be a child—"

Sarah removed her glasses and set them down on the desk carefully, her movements deliberate and controlled. When she looked up at me, her expression was compassionate but firm.

"I never knew you didn't know about the pregnancy," she said calmly. "I assumed she'd told you. And with the circumstances of your divorce, I didn't want to bring up what seemed like old wounds, painful memories."

She took a breath, then continued.

"I met her stepsister, Flora, shortly after the divorce," Sarah explained. "Flora came here for something—I can't remember what exactly. But she mentioned the situation, said that Anna had cheated extensively, that you'd left her because of her infidelity. Given that context, I assumed... well, I assumed either the baby wasn't yours, or you knew about the pregnancy and had rejected it along with rejecting Anna."

Sarah's expression became more apologetic.

"I didn't want to interfere in what seemed like a very painful, very private situation," she said. "So I didn't bother mentioning the pregnancy at all. I thought it would only cause more pain, more complications."

She gestured toward the sample bag on her desk.

"But seeing that child beside Anna at the unveiling party—the photos are everywhere online—I'm very sure now that she's your child, Mr. Donovan," Sarah said with quiet certainty. "The resemblance is unmistakable once you know to look for it. The timeline fits perfectly. Everything points to the same conclusion."

She stood up, moving around her desk to face me more directly.

"I'm so sorry I never mentioned it before," she said, her voice carrying genuine regret. "I thought you knew and had made your choice. I never imagined Anna would keep something like this from you. It seemed... out of character for the woman I knew."

Sarah returned to a more professional tone.

"But we can't just rely on assumptions or physical resemblance," she continued. "We'll have to do proper testing to be absolutely sure. You'll need to go to the lab room where they'll collect the necessary samples from you—blood, saliva, whatever's needed for comparison. Then I'll send both samples to our genetics lab for analysis. I'll call you personally as soon as the results come back. It usually takes about three to five days for a full DNA analysis."

Whatever else she said after that flew past me completely. The words became background noise, meaningless sounds that couldn't penetrate the chaos in my mind.

Anna knew. She knew she was pregnant with my child. She came to this hospital, got the positive test result, was excited about telling me—and then she just... left. Ran away. Took my child with her.

The child is mine. Hermione is mine. The certainty settled over me like a weight.

But why? Why didn't Anna tell me she was pregnant with my child? Why did she leave without a word, without giving me the chance to know I was going to be a father?

What had happened between that moment of joy at the hospital and the moment she'd walked out of my life forever?

I stood up mechanically, barely aware of saying goodbye to Sarah, barely registering her concerned expression as I left her office.

I stepped out of the hospital into the afternoon sunlight, feeling like I was moving through water, like the world had become strange and unfamiliar.

Everything I thought I knew about Anna, about our divorce, about what had happened—it was all wavering now, shifting, revealing cracks and inconsistencies I'd never noticed before.

As I entered my car and started driving back home, my hands gripping the steering wheel too tightly, one thought kept nagging at me with increasing insistence.

Was it possible that Flora knew about the pregnancy all this time?

Sarah had mentioned meeting Flora at the hospital. Flora had been the one to tell Sarah about Anna's supposed infidelity, had provided the narrative that had made Sarah stay silent about the pregnancy.

But what if Flora had known? What if she'd known Anna was pregnant and had deliberately kept that information from me?

What if everything—the divorce, the accusations of cheating, the narrative I'd been fed about Anna's betrayal—what if all of it had been built on lies that Flora had carefully constructed?

The possibility made my blood run cold.

I needed to talk to Flora. Needed to look her in the eye and ask her directly what she knew and when she knew it.

But even as I thought it, doubt crept in. Would she tell me the truth? Had she ever told me the truth about anything regarding Anna?

I pulled into my driveway and sat there for a long moment, engine still running, staring at nothing.

Everything I thought I knew was unraveling.

And I had no idea what would be left when all the lies were finally stripped away.

When I got back to my house, it was late afternoon. The sun was already starting its descent toward the horizon, casting long shadows across the driveway as I pulled in and killed the engine.

I sat there for a moment, my hands still gripping the steering wheel, trying to gather myself before going inside. The conversation with Sarah played on an endless loop in my mind—Anna was pregnant, Anna was excited, Anna was planning to tell me—and I couldn't reconcile that information with everything else I thought I knew.

Finally, I forced myself to move. I got out of the car and walked to the front door, letting myself in.

The house was quiet when I entered. No sounds of movement, no Flora calling out a greeting, nothing. For a moment, I thought she'd left, had finally gotten tired of waiting for me and gone home.

I dropped my keys on the entry table with a dull clank and ruffled my hair, feeling bone-deep tired and emotionally exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with physical exertion.

Then Flora appeared from the direction of the back door, and her face immediately lit up when she saw me. So she hadn't left after all. She'd been here the entire time, waiting.

"You're back!" she exclaimed, her voice carrying that particular brightness that sounded almost forced to my ears now, though maybe I was just being paranoid.

"I thought you had left when I came in and didn't see you," I said, my voice coming out more flat than I'd intended.

"No, I'm here," Flora said, moving toward me with purpose. "I've been waiting for you. You were back late though. Much later than I expected."

She was studying my face, and I could see her trying to read my expression, trying to gauge my mood.

I sighed heavily. "I never said I would be back earlier," I replied, perhaps more sharply than necessary. "I had things to take care of."

Without waiting for her response, I turned and started walking toward the stairs, suddenly desperate to be alone, to have space to think without her watching me, analyzing me.

"So how did it go?" Flora called after me. "With your mom? What did she want to talk about?"

The question made me stop mid-step. I froze on the stairs and slowly turned to look at her, my eyes staring intently, studying her face with new suspicion.

Why would she want to know what my mother and I talked about? The question formed immediately, sharp and uncomfortable. What business was it of hers? Why the probing? Why the interest in a private conversation between me and my mother?

"Why do you want to know what we talked about?" I asked bluntly, not bothering to soften the edge in my voice.

Flora's expression shifted slightly, surprise flickering across her features before she masked it with an awkward chuckle. "I just want to know," she said with a casual shrug that looked anything but casual. "I mean, if it's nothing important, you can tell me. We're engaged, Abel. We're supposed to share things with each other."

The answer felt rehearsed somehow, like she'd prepared it in advance. Or maybe I was just being paranoid, seeing manipulation where there was only normal couple curiosity.

But the question Sarah had posed kept echoing in my mind: Was it possible that Flora knew about the pregnancy all along?

I couldn't tell her the truth—that I was checking whether my ex-wife's daughter was actually mine. She would throw an absolute fit. She'd demand explanations, would want to know why I cared, would probably accuse me of still having feelings for Anna.

And right now, I didn't even know what or who to trust anymore. Everything I'd believed about the past was unraveling, and I needed to keep my cards close until I knew the full truth.

"She wanted to talk about our marriage," I said finally, keeping my voice neutral, businesslike. "Urging me to get married to you as fast as possible. Said I'm stalling, that people are starting to talk about how long we've been engaged without setting a date."

It wasn't entirely a lie—my mother had mentioned something along those lines during our conversation, before dropping the bombshell about Hermione.

Flora's face immediately transformed, holding a pleased and distinctly relieved expression that made my stomach tighten with suspicion. Why was she relieved? What had she been afraid I might say?

"Really!" she exclaimed, her voice rising with enthusiasm. "You see, Abel? People are already talking about us, wondering when we're going to actually tie the knot. Let's seal this thing quickly. Let's set a date and start planning properly."

"Yes, we will," I replied plainly, my voice uninterested and unbothered, already turning away from her again to continue up the stairs.

I just wanted to get to my room, to have some space, to think through everything without her constant presence demanding my attention and energy.

"Should I get you a glass of milk?" Flora asked sweetly from behind me, her voice carrying that particular tone she used when she was trying to be caring and domestic.

The same glass of milk I had rejected this morning. The question made me pause again, made that earlier suspicion resurface. What was with the glass of milk anyway? Why was she so insistent about it? Why did she keep pushing me to drink it despite my clear refusal this morning?

But I was too tired to argue, too emotionally drained to care about her strange fixation on dairy beverages.

"Yes, bring it," I said without turning around. "I'm really tired right now and I'm going to take a shower. A long one."

"Okay, I'll meet you in the room then," Flora said, her voice carrying satisfaction. I heard her footsteps retreating toward the kitchen as I continued up the stairs.

I entered my bedroom and immediately started stripping off my clothes, dropping them carelessly on the floor as I headed toward the en-suite bathroom. The need to wash away this day, to stand under scalding water and try to process everything, was overwhelming.

I stepped into the shower and turned the water on hot—almost unbearably hot—letting it cascade over me, pounding against my shoulders and back with a force that was almost painful but somehow perfect.

I know the test results aren't out yet. The thought formed clearly despite the chaos in my mind. The DNA analysis would take days, Sarah had said. Three to five days for conclusive results.

But my mind has already agreed that Hermione is my child. The certainty had settled over me during the drive home, solidifying with each mile. I'm kind of happy instead of sad about it, which surprised me when I actually examined the feeling.

The prospect of having a daughter—of Hermione being mine—didn't fill me with dread or anger. It filled me with something else. Something that felt almost like hope, or purpose, or a kind of rightness that I couldn't fully explain.

But I'm only angry at Anna. Furious, actually. The anger burned hot and sharp in my chest, mixing with the scalding water to create an almost overwhelming heat.

She kept my child away from me. For six years. Six entire years of my daughter's life that I would never get back, could never reclaim. She was awful for that. Unforgivable.

How could she? How could anyone do that to another person, to the father of their child?

When she came back—when I saw her at that gala—I had berated and insulted her. Called her daughter a bastard, implied that Hermione was the product of Anna's infidelity, questioned her worth and her legitimacy.

And Anna had watched me insult her own child—my child—without saying anything. Without correcting me. Without defending Hermione or telling me the truth.

She'd watched me call my own daughter a bastard, watched me talk down about my own flesh and blood, and she hadn't said a single word to stop me, hadn't warned me, hadn't revealed the truth that would have stopped all those horrible things from coming out of my mouth.

How could she do that? How could she stand there and let me say those things about Hermione without telling me
she was mine?

Why didn't she tell me about the pregnancy in the first place? What had happened between that moment of joy at the hospital and the moment she'd walked out of my life?