Chapter 52 6b

Chapter 52 6b
Chapter 126: A Child That Might Be Mine!

ABEL DONOVAN

I drove to the hospital, not just any hospital, but our family's private medical facility, the one the Donovans had been using since the family had first established itself in this city generations ago. The relationship between our family and this hospital ran deep, built on decades of trust and discretion.

The head doctor who'd been treating us for most of my childhood had retired several years ago, passing the practice to his daughter. The new head doctor, Sarah, was a woman in her mid-thirties, competent, professional, and carrying on the family tradition of caring for the Donovans with the same dedication her father had shown.

The hospital itself was a family thing, intimate and exclusive, and our relationship with the medical staff was close in a way that most people with their regular doctors could never understand. They knew our histories, our secrets, our vulnerabilities.

Sarah was the one who'd been treating my father and mother for the past few years, checking up on their health regularly, managing their medications and monitoring their conditions as they aged. They weren't exactly young anymore, and having someone we trusted completely handling their care brought peace of mind.

I came here to treat myself when I was sick too. It had become automatic over the years, any health concern, any medical need, I came straight here rather than to some impersonal emergency room or unfamiliar clinic.

It was our family hospital, in every sense of the word.

When I was married to Anna, she'd come here too, since she'd been a Donovan by marriage. The staff had treated her as part of the family, had known her medical history, had provided her with the same level of care and discretion they provided the rest of us.

But not anymore. That privilege had ended with our divorce, along with everything else she'd lost when she'd left.

I entered through the main doors, the familiar antiseptic smell and soft lighting immediately recognizable. I walked straight to the reception desk, not bothering to check in through normal channels.

"I want to see Doctor Sarah," I said to the receptionist on duty. "Is she in her office?"

The woman behind the desk recognized me immediately, her eyes lit up with that particular combination of deference and warmth that I'd become accustomed to as a Donovan. I was a VIP here. I couldn't be delayed or denied or disrespected, not in this place that existed largely to serve families like mine.

"Mr. Donovan!" she said, her voice professionally cheerful. "Actually, Doctor Sarah is currently attending to someone in her office. Can you wait for just a few minutes? She should be done soon. In the meantime, we'll inform her that you're here."

She gestured to one of her colleagues, who immediately stood and walked briskly toward Sarah's office to deliver the message.

"Of course," I said, moving to sit in the waiting section, a comfortable area with plush chairs and current magazines that I had no interest in reading.

I sat there trying to calm my racing thoughts, trying to prepare myself for what I was about to do, what I was about to potentially discover.

After what felt like an eternity but was probably only about ten minutes, the door to Sarah's office opened and a patient emerged, thanking her as they left. The receptionist caught Sarah's eye and gestured toward me.

Sarah looked over, spotted me, and immediately waved me in with a welcoming smile.

I stood and walked to her office, entering the familiar space that still smelled faintly of coffee and hand sanitizer. Medical texts lined the shelves, and her desk was organized in that particular way that spoke of someone who dealt with life-and-death matters daily and couldn't afford disorder.

She stood up when I entered fully, her smile widening even as I could see the concern beginning to form in her eyes. She had glasses on today and looked a bit tired, probably from a long shift. But her professional demeanor never wavered.

"Mr. Donovan!" she said warmly. "Is anything wrong? I didn't see a call from you, didn't have you on my schedule today."

I frowned slightly, taking a seat in the chair across from her desk without waiting for an invitation. "Do I have to call before coming here?" I asked, hearing the defensiveness in my own voice.

"No! Of course not!" Sarah laughed, the sound genuine and reassuring as she settled back into her own chair. "It's just that, when anything health-related is wrong, you usually call first so you won't be delayed when you get here. So we can have everything ready for you, prepare any tests or treatments you might need."

She paused, studying my face with those sharp, observant eyes that missed nothing.

"It's become something of a pattern," she explained gently. "So when you show up unannounced, it makes me a bit concerned."

And that was absolutely true. I did typically call whenever I was coming if it was anything about my health, any medical concern I needed addressed. It was efficient, practical, ensured I got immediate attention rather than having to wait.

But I had completely forgotten to do that today. My mind was too occupied with other things, too consumed by questions and suspicions and the weight of what I was carrying in my pocket. I was just... scattered.

"I... yes, that's true," I admitted. "But I just didn't think of it today. My mind's been elsewhere."

Sarah's expression immediately shifted to something more concerned, more alert. "Now I'm really worried," she said, already reaching for one of the folders on her desk, probably my medical file. "Is something wrong with your health? Are you using your medication properly? Has the insomnia come back?"

I had suffered from severe insomnia once, in the months after Anna had left. The sleeplessness had been debilitating, affecting my work, my relationships, my ability to function. Doctor Sarah had treated me for it, prescribed medication that had eventually helped me establish something resembling a normal sleep schedule again.

Even though I still had weird dreams sometimes—vivid, unsettling dreams that left me disoriented when I woke—I was generally okay now, managing well enough.

But Anna being back in my life, her presence and her secrets and her tactics, was really clouding my mind again. The stress was building in ways I hadn't fully acknowledged until now.

"I'm okay, Sarah," I said, trying to inject certainty into my voice. "Physically, I mean. The medication is working fine. Sleep is... manageable."

"Then is it about your parents?" she asked, her worry shifting focus immediately. "Has something happened with their health? Your father's heart condition? Your mother's blood pressure?"

"No," I said quickly. "They're both fine. This isn't about them."

I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out the small plastic bag containing the hair samples I'd collected from Hermione. The strands looked so innocuous, so insignificant, but they potentially held the answers to questions that could change everything.

"I want you to help me run a DNA test," I said, setting the bag on her desk.

Sarah froze completely, her hand hovering over the folder she'd been opening. She stared at the bag, then at me, her expression cycling through surprise, confusion, and something that might have been understanding.

For a long moment, she didn't say anything. Then she chuckled—a short, uncertain sound.

"A DNA test?" she repeated slowly. "For... who?"

Then she seemed to catch herself, shaking her head quickly. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't ask that. It's not my business."

She reached out and carefully collected the sample bag, handling it with the professional detachment of someone who'd dealt with far more dramatic medical situations than this.

But even as she took the sample, my mind was already spiraling in different directions, considering possibilities I hadn't fully thought through before.

If Anna was pregnant before she left—pregnant with my child—she must have come here to test herself, right? To confirm the pregnancy? This was her doctor too, the place she would have naturally gone for prenatal care.

Or... did she get pregnant after she left? Met someone else, had a relationship, conceived a child with another man?

The thought made my stomach clench with an emotion I didn't want to examine too closely.

What if Hermione isn't my child after all? What if this entire theory is wrong, built on coincidence and wishful thinking and my mother's manipulation?

If Hermione isn't my child, will I be relieved or disappointed? The question formed before I could stop it. Right now, I didn't even understand my own emotions anymore. Everything was too tangled, too complicated.

"You know Anna is back, right?" I asked suddenly, the words emerging before I'd consciously decided to speak them. "That she's returned to the city?"

Sarah looked up at me and nodded slowly. "As a Serrano and as BelleNova, yes," she said carefully. "It's been all over the news. Hard to miss."

"I know she's my ex-wife and I have nothing to do with her anymore," I said, hearing how defensive the words sounded even as I spoke them. "But I'm doubting the paternity of her daughter, Hermione. I need to know if she's my child or not. That's what this is about."

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?"