Chapter 7

Henry walked over to the window and pulled the curtains open a crack, letting sunlight slant into the room.

Then he turned around, backlit by the sun as he looked at me and said, "Have you made up your mind about the paternity test?"

My body tensed up instantly.

"No," I said.

"Do it," Henry said, not giving me a choice.

"Why should I?"

"Because of the law," Henry said, leaning against the windowsill with his arms crossed. "If I go to court, you won't be able to refuse."

"Are you threatening me?"

"I am stating the facts."

I locked eyes with Henry for five long seconds, refusing to look away. He met my gaze, as stubborn, not blinking once. Neither of us flinched.

Then he sighed. Can you believe it? Henry actually sighed.

The man who never showed a hint of emotion in front of anyone let out a sigh.

"Sophie," he said, his voice softening a little. "I don't want to take you to court. I want to be sure."

"What are you trying to confirm? You already saw her ear in the OR, that should have been enough," I shot back.

"That's not the same."

"How is it any different?"

"I need a result," he said, pausing. "A result you can't deny.

"You're too good at disappearing," Henry said, sounding a little helpless. "Without something in black and white, you'd probably take the kid and run off to Afriland next month to hunt down your Tom."

I was speechless.

He never lets things go. This man seriously holds grudges.

"I don't have a Tom," I finally admitted. As soon as I said it, I felt relieved yet utterly defeated.

Henry's face didn't change at all, like he'd known all along. "Yeah," he nodded. "I know."

"Then why did you..."

"I wanted to hear you say it yourself." He walked over to the bed and lowered his head.

Sunlight streamed in from behind him, bathing his shoulders in a soft golden glow. "Sophie, the baby is mine. Right?" he asked.

His voice was soft, not accusing, but more like a confirmation of something he had long been hoping for.

I turned away from him.

The ceiling was white, with a single crack running through it.

"Yes," I said, finally uttering that single word.

The room fell silent for so long that I thought he had left.

I turned back. He was still there, head bowed, one hand gripping the edge of the bed, his shoulders trembling slightly.

"Henry?" I called out, my voice tinged with worry.

He looked up, his eyes red. Was Henry crying? No, he was not. He merely had red eyes. He took a deep breath, swallowing all that emotion and pushing it back down.

"Good," he said, his voice a little hoarse. "Good."

Then he straightened up, fixed the collar of his coat, and went right back to being the aloof, professional Chief Carter.

"We still have to do the paternity test," he said.

"Can't you at least try to be a little romantic?" I complained.

"That's a whole other thing."

I wanted to throw a pillow at him. But I'd had surgery and was stuck in bed, totally helpless. Damn it.

On the third day, I was finally able to get out of bed.

Though I still waddled like a penguin and every step pulled at the wound, I had to move.

Because I needed to make my escape, not literally, but I had to devise a strategy before Henry turned the entire hospital into his personal playground.

So, what happened in those three days?

First, he moved me from a shared room with three other patients to a private one. I did not ask for it.

The nurse said, "Chief Carter arranged it."

Second, every meal appeared on my bedside table at the same time each day.

It was not the hospital cafeteria food but takeout, with soup, a main dish, and fruit, all nutritionally balanced like a textbook example.

When I asked the nurse who had arranged it, she gave me a knowing smile and said, "Chief Carter had the cafeteria staff follow a menu he personally prepared."

Third, and the most outrageous of all, he changed the parent information on my daughter's hospital bracelet in the nursery from "Sophie Lane" to "Sophie Lane / Henry Carter."

I discovered this when I went to see the baby. I was so angry that I confronted him right at the nursery entrance.

Well, it was not really a fight; it was more of a one-sided outburst from me, while he stood there listening and occasionally nodding.

His attitude was so aggravating that I wanted to send him back to his mother for a reboot.

But what broke me was that everyone in the hospital knew me, including OB, anesthesia, pediatrics, every department, and even the pancake vendor downstairs.

Someone said, "Hey, you're Chief Carter's girlfriend, right? Congrats."

"No, we're not together anymore," I said.

"Oh, but Chief Carter was here yesterday, buying pancakes for his wife."

Wife? When did I become his wife?

I made up my mind to hunt him down and give him a piece of my mind.