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“Good morning. Can I take your name?” the receptionist asks politely.
“Emerson Benedict,” I say, refusing to consider why I used Hawthorns’ surname as the fake name I registered under.
“The doctor is just with a patient at the moment, but I’ll let her know you’re here as soon as she’s finished. Please take a seat. Can I get you a drink?”
“A glass of water would be great, thank you,” I say, forcing a brittle smile to my lips as I turn and take a seat on a comfortable leather chair. Inhaling long, slow breaths, I try to calm my racing heart. Until this moment, I’ve tried to be pragmatic about this part of my “breaking the will” plan, but now that I’m here in a strange doctor’s office waiting to be examined, I start to panic.
If I had a better relationship with Izabella, or if my friends were real friends—not just girls who hope to gain something by being close to me—then I wouldn’t be here alone. But the thought of having someone whom I trusted enough to have my back at a time like this seems almost comical. There isn’t a single person in my world who cares about me and not the money.
Even my sister wants something from me. If I wasn’t the key to removing the noose around both of our necks, she wouldn’t want anything to do with me, and I wouldn’t blame her.
The longer I sit and wait, the more nervous I get. This isn’t the first time I’ve sat waiting for an exam just like the one I’m going to request in a minute, in fact, this will be the fifth one of these humiliating tests that I’ve had to endure.
Another one of the clauses in my great-grandfather’s will is that I not only have to be a virgin, but I have to prove it in a yearly exam. The first time it happened, I was fourteen years old, and the doctor my parents took me to was a man. A shudder of revulsion cascades through me when I think about that day. Mom made me go into the room alone, at fourteen years old, so a fifty-year-old male doctor could hook my legs into stirrups and confirm that I was in fact a virgin. Even now, years later, I can still remember how scared I was and how ashamed I felt after it was over.
“Miss Benedict, if you’d like to come through,” a female voice says, jolting me from my thoughts.
Rising from my seat, I follow the smiling nurse. Opening a door halfway down a hallway, she gestures for me to enter first, then follows me inside, closing the door behind her and picking up a clipboard from the counter.
“Miss Benedict—” she starts.
“My name is actually Penelope Rhodes,” I say, interrupting her. “I apologize for the subterfuge, but I need to make sure that no one knows I’m here. My situation is a little delicate,” I say, forcing a polite smile.
“Oh, err, okay,” the nurse says, her eyes widening a little. “Well, the doctor will be in to speak to you shortly. There’s a gown on the bed, so if you could get changed, then fill out these patient forms for me, please.”
“Thank you,” I say, reaching for the clipboard, then waiting for her to leave before quickly undressing and pulling on the blue paper gown. Climbing onto the end of the examination table, I lift the clipboard up and start to fill in the form, wondering how much information I can leave blank if I’m paying cash.
A decisive knock on the door draws my attention, and I lift my head just as the handle turns and a woman enters the room. “Hello, Miss Rhodes, I’m Dr. Nestor, what can I help you with today?”
“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice,” I say, lowering the clipboard to my lap. “I have a somewhat unorthodox problem that I’m hoping you might be able to help me with.”
The doctor laughs. “Trust me, I doubt there’s anything you can ask that I haven’t heard before.”
A scoff falls from my lips. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” Pulling in a breath, I start to explain about the will and its stipulations. I don’t tell her everything, just enough that she gets the gist. “So, I’m here today because I need you to examine me.”
“To confirm you remain a virgin?” the doctor asks, her brow furrowed.
“No, to confirm that I’m not a virgin anymore.”
To her credit, the doctor’s only reaction is a raise of a single eyebrow.
“I need written confirmation that my hymen is no longer intact. I need something that I can give to the lawyers as evidence,” I say, unable to meet her eyes now.
“You want me to write a letter to confirm you’re no longer a virgin?” she asks slowly.
Lifting my chin, I swallow thickly. “I know this all sounds insane. Trust me, I feel insane.” I laugh, and it sounds as broken as I feel. “Dr. Nestor, I don’t want this money. You might not understand that, I’m sure most people wouldn’t turn down an inheritance, especially not a billion-dollar one. But for nearly four years, I’ve lived every single moment of my life following someone else’s rules. I don’t want to be a dead man’s puppet anymore, but the will’s clauses keep me bound to this life until I’m twenty-five, unless I find a way to break them and set myself free. This is the only way out. So, you can call me crazy, or you can help me.” Wiping away the tear that’s escaped while I was speaking, I look the doctor in the eye. “Please help me.”
Her nod is slow and unsure to start off with, then becomes more decisive. “Yes, I can help. With your permission, I’m going to ask my colleague to witness the exam, and then she can also provide a written confirmation, two independent statements will be beyond question.”
A gasp of relieved breath bursts from me. “Thank you,” I whisper, my voice cracking.
From then on, she’s all business. She leaves the room for a moment, returning with another slightly older female doctor. Both women are polite and professional, and the exam only takes a moment. Once it’s over, they leave me to get dressed, and the nurse from earlier collects me and leads me into the doctor’s office. Taking a seat in the chair in front of her desk, I sit and wait.
“Miss Rhodes,” Doctor Nester greets, pushing open the door and striding confidently into the room. Instead of sitting behind her desk, she sinks down into the chair next to mine, inhaling sharply as she smiles. “Here are the letters that you require. I can’t say that I completely understand the complexities of your situation, but I understand fear and desperation, and Penelope, I see both of those things in you. There are agencies and people in place to help?—”
“I appreciate your concern,” I say, cutting her off. “But this letter is all I need at the moment. Thank you for your help today.” Lifting my hand, I hold it out, waiting for her to give me the envelope with the paperwork that will change my life.
With a sigh, she passes it over, and I quickly pull the letters free and scan the words. Tears fill my eyes as I read, and I squeeze them shut, refusing to cry anymore. “Thank you,” I say, smiling shakily.
