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It takes me a second to place it.
Petra. She’s not at the front desk. Not hovering somewhere in the background. Not appearing out of nowhere with that calm, watchful expression of hers.
That alone is enough to make me uneasy.
I check in, sit for barely two minutes before a nurse comes to get me, and then I’m walking down a hallway I know too well, my pulse picking up for no good reason.
Dr. Acharya is in his office when I step in.
He looks up, gives me a small nod. “Maggie. Please, sit.”
I do. My hands fold in my lap automatically, like I’m in some kind of exam.
“Is everything okay?” I ask again.
He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he opens a file on his desk, flips through a few pages, then looks up at me. “One of your recent routine markers has come back with an anomaly.”
The word lands heavier than I expect.
“Anomaly,” I repeat.
“Yes.”
“What kind of anomaly?”
“It’s not something I’d classify as alarming at this stage,” he says carefully. “But it’s enough that we follow protocol.”
Protocol. I don’t like that word.
“What does that mean?” I ask.
He leans back slightly in his chair, hands clasped.
“In contracted surrogacy cases,” he says, “any irregularity—however minor—requires full documentation. That includes confirming genetic origin, primarily for medical history accuracy.”
I blink.
I know what he’s saying. I just don’t want to hear it.
“So… you’re saying—”
“That there might be something wrong with the fetus,” he says calmly. “But we don’t know yet.”
The room goes quiet.
My ears ring for a second.
“When?” I ask, my voice coming out steadier than I feel.
“As soon as possible,” he says. “We’ll need a sample from you, and from Mr. Chandler.”
My stomach twists. “And—” I hesitate, the words catching in my throat. “That’s standard?”
“Yes.”
He studies my face for a second. “You weren’t aware this might be required?”
“I was aware of testing,” I say. “Not… this.”
