Guess Who Failed the Test

After I landed in the hospital—again—from working myself into the ground, Jacob swore he was done playing house stockbroker.

"Starting tomorrow, I'll do anything. Haul bricks, deliver pizza, whatever. I'm not letting you carry this alone."

His eyes were glassy as he stormed out of the exam room like he was about to save the day or something.

Then the doctor walked in and handed me a report.

I was pregnant. Again.

Heart racing, I chased after Jacob... and froze.

He was standing outside some super VIP room. The same guys who used to bang on our door for money were suddenly all respectful.

"Mr. Klein, should we block her door again tomorrow?"

Jacob twirled our engagement ring around his finger. "No need. She already lost one baby paying off those debts. The test's over. Time she knew who I really am."

Then my best friend—Lillian Morvain—strolled out and wrapped her arms around his waist like she belonged there.

"Jacob, don't go soft. Your tests usually last at least five years. What if she's just another gold digger? Plus... I'd miss you."

He hesitated. Smirked. "Fine. We'll do it your way. She's not going anywhere anyway."

I stood there, clutching my stomach, sliding down the wall like the air had been punched out of me.

Later, I pushed open the office door.

"Dr. Spencer, I need a termination. Three days from now."

I landed in the hospital—again—from grinding too hard. That's when the truth dropped: my husband was rich.

Turns out, his childhood friend talked him into running some twisted loyalty test. If I wasn't after his cash, he'd marry me.

Too bad for him—I was already out. I didn't love him, and I wasn't keeping this second baby.

***

Jacob walked in while I was packing.

He grabbed my wrist. "What are you doing?"

I didn't even look at him. "Hospital bills are brutal. I'm out." My voice cracked.

He froze. Guilt all over his face.

His throat moved like he had something to say, but all I got was, "I'm sorry."

Even now, with everything on the line, he picked silence over owning up to his stupid little test.

No surprise. When I lost our first baby, he cried, then dumped me at some sketchy back-alley clinic.

The crappy treatment wrecked my body. I've been hurting ever since.

Even today, the doctor warned me:

"Think it through, Ms. Hart. This might be your last shot."

I shut my eyes, drained. Opened them and saw the tan line on his wrist.

Guess he took his fancy watch off before coming in. How thoughtful.

I said nothing. He brushed my cheek. "Don't be upset. Want me to call Lillian to keep you company?"

I was about to shut it down, but he was already dialing.

Soon as she picked up, his face softened. "Zoe's sick. Don't you wanna see your best friend?"

Lillian's voice came through all sugary, saying she'd come.

Like it was settled. Like I didn't get a