Chapter 2: The Locked Drawer
Part 2 ⬇️
Michael's face had gone completely white.
"What did she say?" he asked again.
His voice was barely a whisper.
"She said I have a cyst." I watched him carefully.
"And she said the infertility was never confirmed.
Not by anyone."
He turned toward the window.
His hands were shaking.
"Michael.
Look at me."
He didn't move.
"Did you already know?" I asked.
"Did you know and say nothing?"
"Sarah, you don't understand—"
"Then help me understand.
Eighteen years, Michael.
Eighteen years I believed I was broken.
I stopped hoping.
I stopped fighting.
Because of what you told me."
He finally turned around.
His eyes were red.
"I was trying to protect you."
"Protect me?" My voice broke.
"From what?"
He opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
"There's something you need to see." He walked past me toward the bedroom.
I followed.
He pulled open the bottom drawer of his nightstand — the one he had always kept locked.
Inside was a brown envelope.
Old.
Worn at the edges.
He held it out without a word.
My hands were trembling as I reached for it.
Then my phone rang.
It was Dr.
Emily Wilson.
"Sarah," she said quietly.
"The lab called with your husband's name.
May you like
He was a patient here.
Eight years ago."
