Chapter 7

Early the next morning, Thomas wasted no time and contacted the top reproductive medicine centers in the country.

He moved fast. By noon, he had already booked every test he needed. From the afternoon onward, he stuck with me, driving us from one hospital to the next. It wasn't me getting tested. It was all about him.

Every time he went into the exam room alone, I sat on the bench outside, my nerves stretched tight as I waited. I was more nervous than I'd been waiting for my college SAT results.

I kept praying over and over in my heart. I prayed for a miracle and that the diagnosis from back then had been nothing but a mix-up.

But the more I hoped, the harder it hit when reality came crashing down. The results from the first hospital came back. They were the same as those of three years ago.

The words "congenital azoospermia" on the report felt like they were laughing at us, making fun of our foolish hopes.

When Thomas came out of the exam room, his face was grim.

He didn't say a word, just took my hand and led me in silence to the next hospital. The second gave us the same answer. The third, the same crushing news.

By the end of the day, we'd been to three hospitals, and every single report was a carbon copy of the last. Each report was like a bucket of cold water, dousing the tiny flame of hope in my heart, drop by drop.

On the way home, the air in the car was so heavy it felt like it could crush us. Thomas slumped back in his seat, eyes closed, and the exhaustion and defeat were written all over his handsome face.

Seeing his brow so tightly furrowed, my heart ached like it was being cut to pieces. I knew those reports were like a slow, torturous death for him. They kept crushing his pride as a man, again and again.

I reached out and gently placed my hand over his. His hand was cold. At my touch, his long lashes fluttered, and he slowly opened his eyes. His eyes were shot through with red veins.

"Thomas," I said softly, "Maybe we should stop all these tests." I couldn't bear to see him torture himself like this anymore.

Even if the tests finally proved the children I'm carrying had nothing to do with Thomas, I'd accept it. Worst case, we would split up. I could handle raising the kids alone. But I didn't want him to suffer like this because of me.

Thomas looked at me, a storm of emotions in his eyes. "Rebecca," he said, his voice hoarse as he reached back and took my hand in his, "do you think it's hopeless too?"

I bit my lip, not knowing what to say. Yeah, I'd lost all hope. Three top hospitals and three authoritative reports all delivered the same brutal verdict. The babies I was carrying weren't his.

My silence made the light in his eyes dimmer. He let out a wry, self-mocking smile. "Yeah, I'm doubting myself now. Maybe it's fate that I'll never have kids."

His words broke my heart. The pain was almost unbearable. I leaned in and wrapped my arms around him.

"No, that's not true," I said, pressing my face against his chest. "Thomas, it doesn't matter whether we have kids or not.

"I love you, and that's all that matters. Even if... if we do end up apart, you'll always be the only one I love."

He went rigid, his arms suddenly tightening around me.

"Apart?" He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look up at him. His gaze turned cold and dangerous."Who said we're splitting up? Rebecca, have you already figured out a way out for yourself?"

I was startled by his sudden anger. "No, I didn't," I blurted out.

"Then what do you mean?" He pressed in closer, his breath hot against my face. "Are you planning to take these bastards, whose father I don't even know, and leave me to go find their birth dad?"

When he spat out the word "bastard," it cut right through me, like a knife straight to my heart.